The Prodigal
by ArentYouSophiaLoren-8887
Summary: A dinner with the Torres family brings out long-held resentments and future insecurities. FutureFic. DRIANCA.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I blame Jay-Ell-Gee ENTIRELY for this germ of a fic idea that would not go away. All her speculation of a possible Drianca Vegas wedding and all her cutesy adorable talk about making up stories of little Torres children and their little Torres lives…well, damn it, she just got me brainstorming! So if you hate it, you know who to blame ;)**

**This will be a two-shot, with the slight possibility of a three-shot. **

**I am on Twitter: AlbatrossTam14 (protected tweets)**

**And Tumblr: welldeservedobscurity**

**I don't own Degrassi. **

**I.**

"Give me another one," Drew says.

In the passenger seat, Adam drums his fingers on the leg of his jeans. Outside, the world is grey. The cityscape looks like a smear on the foggy horizon. The bare trees dotting the highway look like skeletal arms reaching out of the dry, dead earth, like they're scrabbling to pick apart the clouds in the sky.

"Roses are red," he says. "Violets are red. I'm a dog."

Drew rolls his eyes. "Weaksauce, man."

"Why did the girl fall off the swing?" his brother counters. "Because someone threw a refrigerator at her."

Drew snorts at that one. "Sounds like an episode of _Family Guy."_

"Stephen Hawking walks into a bar."

"Who's he?"

"Never mind." Adam stretches a little in his seat. "Where _is_ this place, anyway? We've passed like every exit that's anywhere remotely near the city."

"It's farther out, I told you that."

"Yeah, but when you said farther out, I thought you meant, like, ten minutes. This is the boonies, dude."

"It's not the boonies. It's cheaper to live out here, anyway."

"Yeah, because it's the boonies."

"You haven't even seen the place," Drew argues. "Besides, neither of us works in the city. We don't need to make a huge commute every day to get where we need to go."

"Yeah, well, any town named Red Ridge still sounds like the sticks, man."

Adam's pocket lights up. When he grabs his phone, he frowns. Drew watches him shoot off a quick text message before sliding it back in his pocket.

"Jessica?" Drew guesses.

Adam nods. "Just wanted to check in." He rubs his hands over his eyes. "I think she's still mad at me."

"If she called, she's probably not still mad."

He sighs. "No, I'll just hear about it when I get home."

"Or maybe a weekend apart will help smooth things over."

"Avoiding things never actually fixes them," Adam says.

"But it'll keep you guys from trying to kill each other." When he sees Adam checking his email again, Drew swats him. "Come on, dude. You guys aren't going to solve all your problems like right now, in this car. So just put the phone down and you'll deal with it when you're not both still mad."

"I'm not mad!" Adam says. "I just don't get how, after dating me for this long, she can think I'd be like that."

"I don't think she does. Maybe she was just really mad."

Adam shakes his head. "I just don't get where she thinks this is coming from. Okay, so she doesn't want to quit her job if we have a kid. I get that. But thinking that I'll get sick of being a parent? The whole reason we decided to go through with this whole thing was because we BOTH decided this is what we want. Like, she told me when we started getting serious that she wanted kids. She wanted a family. She wanted to get married, do the whole thing. And I was okay with that. I'm still okay with that. I don't get why she suddenly thinks one day I'll flip a switch and decide I don't like the idea of having a kid."

"Look," Drew says. "I think Jess just has serious baby fever right now, and you two are just making each other nuts. So a breather is what you need."

"I guess," Adam says. "She's hanging out with her sisters this weekend, so maybe she'll tell them all what a shithead I am and they'll hate me just in time for Christmas."

"Then stay with us instead."

"Nah, pretty sure Jess _would_ dump me if I skipped Christmas with her family. You know how they're, like, the freaking Griswalds when it comes to the holidays." Adam glances out the window as Drew pulls into the parking lot. "This is it?"

Drew nods.

"You guys didn't tell me you were in the woods."

"We're not in the woods. The highway's right there."

"Whatever, hope you know how to hunt squirrel for the winter."

Drew lifts the hood of the trunk and pulls out the edge of one of the boxes. "Help me with the rest of this shit."

Adam comes around and pushes the rest of the box out, then shifts around until he grabs the other end.

"The woods," he repeats, shaking his head.

The two of them walk towards the staircase, Drew walking backwards and trying to watch the stairs out of the corners of his eyes so he doesn't make the most dramatic wipeout ever.

"Fuck these stairs," Adam huffs.

Drew presses himself against the railing to avoid stumbling over his feet. "I'd kind of forgotten about them," he says.

"How could you forget about these?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just not used to them yet."

"Well, you'll get used to them pretty fast," Adam says.

"We'll get in great shape," Drew says with a grin.

After a few moments of struggling in silence, Adam picks up as if they never left off.

"She started on me yesterday about putting those childproof caps over all the plugs in the house. We haven't even gone in for our first round yet, and already she wants to kidify the place."

"Bianca did the same thing," Drew says. He holds his breath as he goes up the steps backwards, trying to lean against the wall for balance. "Soon as we found out we were pregnant, she was already getting those kid locks on the drawers. Took me fifteen minutes to get a fork."

"At least you guys were pregnant when she did that," Adam huffs. He takes a moment to lean against the railing, taking a couple of quick breaths. "It's like this whole thing's out of control right now. I know Jess wants to get the ball rolling, but it's like she's jinxing us. Basically guarantees that we won't get pregnant."

"I think it's a little more science-y than that, man. You guys will be fine."

Adam rolls his eyes. "Easy for you to say. You can get kids the old-fashioned way, not with shots and chemicals and all the other stuff that says you don't have the right equipment."

"Yeah, well…" Drew takes the last step, breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches level ground. "So will you and Jess. Have kids, I mean. Just…I don't know. Try not to think about it too much."

Adam rolls his eyes. "That sounds totally doable."

"I mean it. Instead of thinking about trying to have a kid, just try to stop trying. Just let it happen, and it will."

"Yeah, I'll let Jess know that as soon as she stops reading Mommy blogs."

"Mommy blogs?"

"No offense, Bro," Adam replies, "but I think I'll take your advice for the half of grain of salt it's worth. I seem to remember an incident with a cucumber that's been burned in the back of my memory ever since."

Drew groans. "Hey, forget I ever tried to help you out."

"No problem."

Drew leans against the door, digging through his pocket with his free hand for the house key. He hasn't put it on his car lanyard yet, so it just dangles from a simple buckle. It chimes when he sticks it in the lock, like a quarter in a slot in a game of chance; the sound of a gamble.

It always surprises Drew, whenever he steps into the new place, how small it actually looks. When he steps into what will soon be his new home, he wonders how the couch, coffee table, lamps, TV, and kitchen table will be able to fit into the small, boxy space. Maybe it's the lack of pictures and things on the bare white walls, but it seems as if they're all too close together, like the room gets smaller each time he looks at it.

The new place is much cheaper than where they're currently living, though. So despite the size (or rather, lack thereof) Drew's trying to look at it in a good light – a lot less to clean, after all. Plus, now that they live on the fourth floor, they get a balcony, which they've never had before, since they've always been on the first floor of whatever apartment place they lived in since leaving Fiona's condo. And, Drew reasons, less space means they'll have a lot less stuff, and a lot less stuff means that moving next time won't be nearly as painful as it is now.

There isn't much moved over yet, though it feels to him as if they've been doing nothing for months but move shit – boxes and bins and later, when they got sick of packing everything and ran out of boxes, 13-gallon garbage bags staked like Legos in the corners. Drew can track the timeline of the move in the way that the boxes are labeled: early on, they had gotten creative with the boxes, scribbling "Bianca's old textbooks – why the hell does she even keep these?" and "Lola's old baby clothes that she outgrew before we even got a chance for her to wear them" and "couch covers that the cat peed on", but as time had gone on and they'd gotten sick of packing, they'd labeled them "random shit", "random shit the sequel", "random shit III: it doesn't end here", and "you guessed it: even more random shit".

But, he's noticed, despite the fact that their new home may be smaller by more than half, there's more light here than where they're living now. Standing in the mostly-empty living room, he watches the lazy beams of light slant in through the blinds onto the carpet and line the walls, dancing and darting across the emptiness.

Adam staggers in behind him. "Where to?" he grunts as he nudges Drew out of the doorway.

Drew points towards the back hallway. "Last room on the right. I think."

"You think?"

"Wait, let me see what's in them."

"Dude, this thing weighs a ton. If we put it down, we're getting a crane to move them."

"Then just leave it here."

"What if Bianca needs to move it later on?"

"Then we'll unpack it later on. Just put it down and let me see what's in it."

Adam bends down and lets out a low groan as he set the box down on the carpet. "What did you guys pack here? Your personal weight collection?"

Drew pops the lid off. "No. Looks like – hey, this goes in the living room. Sweet! Looks like we don't have to move it again."

"What do you mean we?" Adam mumbles, stretching out his arms. "From now on, you guys can carry this shit up four stories of stairs by yourselves. Or hire some sherpas."

"I thought the whole point you guys came here this weekend was to help us move," Drew says as he pulls out a Little Tykes plastic step stool that he and Bianca kept in the bathroom so Lola could reach the sink.

"That's what you think. What I really came here to do was get Mom and Dad to pay for a free dinner." Adam cracks his back with an audible crunch that makes Drew wince.

Drew digs towards the bottom of the container and finds it filled with Lola's winter clothes. He's not sure how they ended up in a box that's also filled with picture frames and a small table lamp, but he's sort of forgotten where and why they packed everything in the endless line of boxes he and Bianca have been throwing together, trying to move out as quickly as possible. The clothes smell musty from being kept in the back of the closet for the past year. "I'm gonna put these away."

"You do that," Adam says. He sits down on the bare carpet. "I'll be exercising my right to not do anything useful."

Drew flips on the light in the hallway, forgetting that the electricity hasn't been turned on yet. It's strange to look at the walls unlined with pictures, the doors flung open to reveal empty tan rooms lined with dust and sunlight. He pokes his head into the master bedroom, and sees that Bianca has already started putting things away. Her full-length mirror is set against the wall, and there are some of her books already lined up on the shelf. They moved over Drew's nightstand a few weeks ago, and his lamp. Some of their clothes are already hanging up in the closet. It's mostly Bianca's stuff, things she can't fit into anymore: her tank tops and tight-fitted shirts, skinny jeans stacked in a shoe rack hanging from the closet pole. He sees one of his winter coats hanging in the back, next to a tan leather jacket he bought her for her birthday one year. He reaches out and runs a finger down one of the sleeves; it's still smooth and almost soft, like touching warm skin.

He walks into Lola's room, nearly tripping over a cardboard box filled with stuffed animals. The room is already strewn with his daughter's clothes and toys, already making themselves home on her carpet. He sets the pile of clothes on top of one of the boxes, then follows the conjoining bathroom into the empty room that will be the nursery in a few months.

The one thing that Bianca put her foot down on and refused to compromise about when they were looking for a new place was that the girls each had to have their own bedrooms. She shared with various cousins until she was 16 and moved in with Juliana, she argued, and then only had her own room for two years before she got married. Kids, especially girls, needed their own bedrooms.

_Avoid a ton of fights in the future, _she'd said.

Drew privately disagreed, but Bianca wouldn't budge on the issue, and he knew better than to argue. He can't see any situation where Lola and her new sister wouldn't get along, wouldn't be close. He keeps trying to tell himself that girls are always going to be different than boys – because girls are just weird like that – and besides, he and Adam had pretty crazy circumstances anyway. But he can't imagine his own kids not being close like he and Adam are, or even he and Gracie used to be.

The only piece of furniture in the room is a rocking chair Grams gave them when Lola was born; she said it had been hers when their mom was little, which really weirded Drew out because he couldn't imagine his mom as a newborn baby, as small and fragile and needing as Lola had been. He gives it a little push, listening to it creak back and forth, back and forth, like there's a phantom mother and child in there being lulled to sleep.

**II.**

When he pulls the lot in front of the liquor store, he parks under the wings of the dirty angel. That statue always gives him the creeps; it's nearly forty feet high and bulbed with neon lights that burn bright as Vegas when the sun goes down, but during the day just stands there, grey and washed out and slightly dingy, above the grocery store. The thing that really weirds him out, though is that the angel has no face – the frame of the head is outlined in those same neon lights, but there's no eyes, nose, or mouth. Nothing but these two giant wings that, whenever he catches a look at them from the highway at night all lit up, he swears pulse like they might actually be moving.

The whole thing is weird, creepy, and completely random to be just sitting there, a faceless, wooden angel looking over a strip mall parking lot.

Because of the rain, the statue looks even more worn-out than usual, grey and faded, the wings dull as they spread across the empty canvas sky.

"We must look like such alkies," Adam says. This early in the afternoon, there's no other customers in the store, no other cars parked in front.

The bell chimes above their heads. The old guy who works behind the counter is the only employee in the store, and he's got the radio behind him tuned to a channel playing the blues. The fan whirls lazily overhead, cutting drunken shadows across the dusty hardwood of the uneven floor.

The cashier doesn't look up from the small TV he has resting on the countertop. He just grunts at them when they walk in, and points to back behind the countertop, where there are stacks of empty boxes piled by the supply closet.

"How many you think we'll need?" Drew says.

Adam shrugs. "Depends. How much shit do you guys have?"

Drew sighs. "We have to at least move the kitchen stuff. We need plates to eat off of and stuff."

"Pshaw," Adam says. "Who needs plates. Just use paper towels. How manly men eat."

Drew rolls his eyes and punches Adam in the good shoulder. "Whatever. Just pick up enough to pack the kitchen. And she wants to move a bunch of the stuff to the baby's room."

"Thought most of that was already in boxes," Adam says as he grabs a few of the empty cases from the top of the pile.

"The carseat and stuff, but not a lot of the little things. She wants to get the nursery set up pretty quick, before she has to leave work."

Adam jumps out of the way as an empty box nearly falls on top of his head. "The baby's not coming for another two months. I think she's okay for now."

Drew shrugs. "You know Bee. Wants to be prepared for everything."

"Yeah, well," Adam grunts, "when that plan doesn't involve human slavery, feel free to give me a call."

Drew rolls his eyes again and grabs an armload of boxes. Giving a nod of thanks to the old cashier, he follows his brother to the car idling in the parking lot.

When Drew pops the trunk, Adam starts unloading the empty boxes, sliding them sideways to make more room.

"Nice trunk space," he says. "The dead hooker ratio's got to be at least, what, three or five, at most."

Drew grins. "Plus, you can't beat the gas mileage you get on this thing."

Adam laughs. "You sound like such an old, boring Married. Family sedan, pregnant wife, baby seat in the back."

"It's called a booster seat," Drew teases. "Though if you feel like really earning your keep, you can help me set up the car seat in the back before the baby gets here."

Adam wipes some sweat off his brow. "Dude, you must really miss that motorcycle right about now."

He shrugs. "Sometimes."

His pocket buzzes. He reaches into his jeans, pulling out his phone. Bee.

After debating about it for a solid minute, he slides his finger past the screensaver (a picture of Lola playing in the snow last winter).

"Hello?"

"Where are you guys?"

He tries to measure her tone. She doesn't sound _too_ terribly pissed, just tired (which is what she usually is these days) but he can't be entirely sure.

"Getting those boxes from the liquor store."

He hears a rustling in the background, then his mother's voice. Bianca sounds muffled as she responds, like she's holding her hand over the phone.

"What did my mom want?"

"Nothing. Just trying to pack up the rest of the living room."

He was supposed to have done that a week ago.

"How much more do you have to do?" he asks, pushing that thought away. It makes his stomach prickle in a way he doesn't like.

"Just the recliner. We're waiting for you guys to get home to move it."

"Where's my dad?"

"He took Lola to the playground." There's another muffled pause, and more talking he can't make out. "Hold on. I gotta go. We're moving the stuff out to the car."

"Wait, _you're_ moving the stuff? Should you even be doing that?" Drew didn't even let Bianca take out the trash. She'd try to argue – "I'm pregnant, not made of glass" – but he still wouldn't let her. He didn't even like it when she carried the full dirty laundry bin, or when she brought in the groceries. The whole business of her being pregnant worries him to no end. He thought that, after already having gone through this once, he'd take it easier the second time around, but he still worries just as much.

There's a long pause at the other end.

Then Bianca replies, "I gotta go, Drew."

The line goes dead.

Drew stands there for a moment under the dirty angel, holding the phone in his hand, the dial tone ringing in his palm. He knows that if he'd moved the boxes when he said he would, his very pregnant wife wouldn't have to do it, and pushes that thought to the back of his head once again. It makes him feel like kicking some rocks across the lot, or throwing something large and ineffective. Anything but stand there like a doofus with his big awkward arms swinging and his stupid face looking all slack-jawed and guilty.

There is a quicker way to get back home, but Drew ops for the longer route that takes them all the way around the city instead of the shorter commute. Traffic on the other way is always backed up, he reasons. Especially in the afternoon. Even on a Saturday when no one's at work. No sense in getting stuck in a traffic jam, right? Right.

**III.**

There are footsteps above their heads, the sound of someone running across the floor. The ceiling rattles, and then there's an almighty clang from overhead like God just tripped over Himself.

Audra shoots a look at the ceiling. "Do you guys live below a circus?"

Bianca rolls her eyes. "Close. A family with three little boys."

Audra takes the front page of yesterday's paper and wraps up their clock, a miniature of the MGM Grand underneath a glass dome. Imogen bought it for them in the Vegas airport when they landed, and gave it to the two of them wrapped in leftover fabric from Bianca's wedding dress.

"Do you guys have enough boxes?" she asks Bianca, looking around the room. "You still have the kitchen to pack up."

"Drew's getting more boxes from the liquor store. And the grocery store has produce boxes we can use."

"Still." Audra sets the clock down carefully, nestled in a pile of yesterday's business pages. "A lot of stuff is a lot of stuff." She grins wryly, looking around the room. "Where Drew manages to find some of these things, I'll never figure out."

"Hey," Bianca laughs, "the dog-shaped hot dog slicer is mine."

Audra takes some of the photos lining the shelf on the wall. "Just wondering where all this is going to fit in the new place."

Bianca stares down at her hands, covered with newsprint. It looks like she's been digging her hands in ash.

She bends down, then winces as her back spasms. She presses her hands to her back and tries to breathe through it.

Audra, of course, notices. "You all right?"

Bianca nods, sucking in her breath through her teeth. "Just my back."

Audra doesn't look convinced, but continues packing the piles and piles of stuff thrown on their coffee table into boxes. Audra's right, Bianca thinks – the amount of pure _shit _she and Drew seem to have accumulated over the years is astonishing. Half of their life in boxes; the other half tossed around the room, spilling out at the seams. She didn't realize how much they had until they tried boxing it up; for always seeming to lack, it's unreal to see all they actually have.

Bianca leans over to grab an empty trash bag for the couch cushions. As she bends down, a bolt of pain lightnings through her spine, and before she can stop herself she winces.

In a flash, Audra's at her side, resting a hand on her back.

"Okay," she says, pressing down on Bianca. "That's it. Sit down, and I'm going to wait for the boys to load the rest of this."

"No," Bianca says, trying not to hiss through her teeth at the pain. "No, it's fine. I got it."

"Bianca," Audra says. "Sit, before you hurt yourself."

"Really, Audra," she insists. "Really. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just want to finish this."

Audra rolls her eyes. "I can finish it myself. Please, for my sanity. Sit down and take a break. You've been at it all day." She moves two boxes out of the way to clear a small path to the couch, then motions for Bianca to sit. "Sit."

"I really don't need a long break," she says, but Bianca does sit down, and as soon as she does she feels instantly grateful to be off her feet. She leans back and tilts her head up, taking a deep breath.

Audra hands her one of the bottled waters from the kitchen table, and Bianca tosses it back.

"You shouldn't put so much stress on yourself," Audra tells her as she watches Bianca gulp the bottle in nearly one sip. "It's not good for you. Or the baby."

Bianca finishes the rest of the bottle like a shot. She looks over at Audra, wrapping everything in newspaper and laying it neatly into an empty box that once held bottles of merlot. It's a brand Bianca doesn't recognize, but the logo is a crescent moon in the sky, surrounded by falling stars. MAKE A WISH! it says. SHOOTING STARS COLLIDE.

They should have been moved out by now. Bianca knew that if Audra hadn't offered to come down with Adam and Omar this weekend to help them kickstart most of their things over to the new apartment, they'd never make it out before Christmas. As it is, they were supposed to be out two weeks ago, but got their date pushed back – since they were not even remotely packed, they had to just swallow the consequence and pay an extra three hundred dollars to their landlord, money they didn't have. They'd have to spend three hundred a week for each week they stayed here past their planned move-out date. More than $600 in the hole, they'd called in Drew's family to see if they could have them all moved out by the end of the weekend.

She looks again at the liquor box, stacked with their dishes. Mixed and matched patterns –cheap colored plastic, Disney princesses and Nemos, bowls stained with rings of tomato sauce, a few pieces of china printed with blue vines – a belated wedding gift from Fiona and Imogen – that Audra wraps in pillowcases and newsprint to avoid breaking. The logo on the box – MAKE A WISH! SHOOTING STARS COLLIDE. The crescent moon. She feels like she's swallowed a moon herself these days, presses her palm flat against her belly. The baby hasn't been kicking much, but Bianca knows she'll be up all night doing it; she always seems to wait until then to start up.

Bianca sits up, pushes herself to her feet. She doesn't need help with that much, but it aches in her lower back when she arches up. She tries not to wince.

Audra is watching her over her pile of crumpled newsprint and empty merlot boxes. "Feeling all right?"

Bianca nods, holding the edge of the couch.

"Just," she says, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She makes it to the kitchen sink – doesn't even bother racing for the bathroom down the hall.

It's weird. When she was pregnant with Lola, she never really got sick. Felt tired and crappy, napped a lot, but didn't spend every morning, midday, and night with her head in the toilet. Now, it's like this baby is grabbing her insides and scraping her clean, emptying out everything else that isn't her, and leaving Bianca breathless and shaking on the cold tile floor. To add insult to injury, she's gained the weight a lot faster this time around – though she can't imagine how _that_ happened, seeing as how she can barely eat Ritz crackers without them coming back up thirty minutes later.

Audra is behind her when there's nothing left to come up. She puts her hand on Bianca's back, rubbing it gently, as she dry-heaves over the garbage disposer.

"Easy," she murmurs, pushing some sweaty hair out of Bianca's eyes. She takes a cold bottle of water out of the fridge and presses it to Bianca's throbbing forehead. "Just sip this time."

Bianca rinses the taste out of her mouth while Audra runs the disposer.

"All right," she says over the roar. "I'm finishing this up myself. You go lay down."

"I just need a minute," Bianca murmurs, still trying to catch her breath.

"Are you smelling what I'm smelling?" Audra shakes her head. "Go lay down. Rest. You need a break from all this. I can finish the living room. I'll wake you up when it's time to go to dinner. If you're still up for it."

"I'm up for dinner. I'll be fine."

"Once you rest," Audra urges, taking her by the elbow and leading her toward the bedroom.

Bianca lets Audra lead her to the bedroom, silencing her own protests. She really does feel like shit, and her head swims slightly as she lies down on the comforter, head resting on a pillow that smells like Drew's aftershave.

"Try to nap," Audra whispers as she pulls the curtains across their little window, one that doesn't afford them much of a view. There isn't much point, because the sky outside is heavy and grey with rain that hasn't come in days. "I'll let Drew know we're calling it quits for the day. He can just meet us at the restaurant."

"You don't have to do that," Bianca says.

Audra shakes her head. "I think we did enough packing for the day. Don't worry about it. I'll let him know."

A part of Bianca knows she should just get up and keep working. She always hates this – feeling like an invalid, just sitting around while everyone else gets the work done. Especially Audra. She hates knowing that Audra is the one who is taking care of everything, and Bianca can barely lift her own head off the pillow without getting blasted with the urge to barf up Vancouver. She should be up, packing, directing which boxes should be labeled what and where they should go, like her mother-in-law would do without a hitch. Now she's surrendered that task to someone else as she struggles to keep still in bed.

This isn't the first time that Audra has stepped in and saved her and Drew from floundering. She was there when they first got married and couldn't afford to pay rent on Fiona's old condo after she moved back to New York with her family, leaving her and Drew a paycheck away from getting evicted. She was there after they'd had the biggest fight of their marriage, right before they got pregnant with Lola. She'd had Audra there when Lola was born; after Drew, she'd been the first person to hold her. She was there when they first brought Lola home, scared shitless with no idea how to even hold her the right way, never mind be responsible for an entire human life.

Audra was there the whole time, though. Bianca had been scared Drew would put up a fight about it, but as it turned out, he was too worried and scared himself about what to do with a baby that he let his mom stay at their place without argument. Audra showed her how to change a diaper, warm a bottle, and took Lola off her hands when she was too exhausted and overwhelmed to remember how to do either of those things. She'd let Bianca burst into tears and cry in her arms when Lola was six weeks old and was admitted to the ICU for an infection that was shutting down her lungs. She'd be there when this new baby was born, mostly to keep Lola off their hands and distract her while she and Drew fumbled through the motions of taking care of a newborn for the second time.

She and Drew would be nowhere without her jumping in and saving their butts. They couldn't have stayed married, kept a roof over their heads, raised their daughter without her help. Lola is lucky to have always had something in her life that Bianca didn't find until she was sixteen, she thinks. Until _after_ her life went to Hell.

Bianca had taken psyche in university. She'd studied attachment disorders. Knew the consequences of an infant not having a primary bond with an adult, how it fucked them up for life and turned them into psychopaths who lit houses on fire and put kittens in the microwave.

Bianca never did any of those things, so it figures that she had to have _somebody_ who took care of her when she was a baby. Someone had to have fed her, cuddled her, held her and rocked her to sleep. If no one had, she'd have been the Antichrist before she was potty-trained. But she couldn't imagine her mom doing it, never mind her dad – wherever (and whoever) the fuck _he _was.

Her daughters never have to worry about that, she knows. She turns over on the bed, running off the list in her mind. They have Audra, Adam, Omar, Jessica. They have Fiona, who visits every year and always sends Christmas presents; who planned Bianca's first baby shower; who the two of them named Lola's godmother, and came all the way back to Toronto on a bus just so she could be there for her goddaughter's Christening.

They have Drew, who tucks Lola in at night and kisses her every morning. Wrestles with her on the living room floor, watches _Yo Gabba Gabba _and _Finding Nemo_ twice a day with her if she asks. She hears him talking her to sleep some nights after a bad dream. He talks to their baby, puts his hand on her stomach, feels her kicking.

She can't imagine who could ever have done that for her, but her daughters never have to worry.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, sets it on the nightstand. She probably pissed him off by just hanging up, but she's too tired to really give a shit. Still, she slides her finger over the cover, and only slightly expects to see no missed calls.

Bianca pulls the blanket up to her chin and wraps it around her like a shield. The sheets are cleaned – she can smell her lavender fabric softener. Drew must have stripped the bed, washed their sheets. She doesn't know if it was before or after their fight the other day about the boxes. She wonders if the two correlate somehow.

That happens a lot in their house, especially when she's mad at him. There have been plenty of times times when she wanted to strangle him – moments when he walked out on their fights instead of listening, moments when he let his jealousy and paranoia take over. Moments when he shut her out completely and then lashed out when she tried to get through. Moments when he made messes he didn't clean up, broke things he couldn't fix, made her cry and curse and hate him while he just stood there looking stupid and clueless and so idiotic she wanted to slap him across his stupid, clueless, idiotic face.

And then there were the times when she would come home from class and find the laundry done, the counters wiped clean, the dishes put away and the floor swept. There were days when she'd look in the mostly-empty fridge and see her favorite soup from the deli on campus, sitting in a to-go cup on the shelf. Or she'd wake up to Drew vacuuming the family room on a Sunday morning. There would be gas in her car she didn't put there, a soda in her bag she didn't buy, and the bathroom drains unclogged. He'd put his arms around her while she was falling asleep and just let her lie there, and wouldn't move until she'd finally dropped off.

She can hear the dishwasher running from down the hall, and the sound of china clinking against one another. Audra's footsteps on the tile, the sound of cupboards opening and closing. The ping of the coffee maker. Always the picture of efficiency, always with a purpose.

Bianca is glad Audra didn't find out about the times she googled diseases, anomalies, defects – because surely, their kids were ripe for disaster. She always made sure to clear her browser history, in case Drew found it and accused her of being paranoid. It's different for him, though, because he's always been the one who thinks of the impossible. Getting married in Vegas at seventeen. Getting into university with a full-ride. Lying about what really happened on a slushy April night when they were still kids. You didn't survive the things they had without believing that sometimes, impossible can work out for the best.

But it still didn't stop her from the times she double-checks Lola's buckle on her seatbelt, and when she bends closer she wishes she knew the kinds of secrets mothers whisper to their daughters. Doesn't stop her from keeping track of every moment the baby makes when she somersaults inside her, like she's mapping Bianca from the inside out. Doesn't stop her from the gnawing knowledge that Drew is the better parent here – because he can see the wider picture, when all she's ever been able to see are shadows.

**IV.**

He and Bianca have lived in the same city for three years now, but each year he seems to forget how cold fall can get, and how quickly it comes and goes. For a few weeks it was perfect weather, and the colors on the trees looked like a postcard. But it seems like every year it gets colder earlier, and the grey drizzle of early winter erases every dazzling inch of that little stretch of time.

Still, even the weather can't keep people away. As he drives by the junior high school, there's a giant sign out front that advertises their annual pumpkin patch sale and fundraiser. There are hundreds of bright pumpkins stacked in crooked rows in the schoolyard, and parents and children mill through the track as they try to pick out the perfect pumpkin. Drew wonders why he and Bianca hadn't taken Lola to this before; there were plenty of young families like them, women holding babies and kids riding on their dads' shoulders.

This year, he's pretty excited that Lola's actually interested in Halloween. When she was a year old, he and Bianca had dressed her in a baby tiger costume just for fun, and Bianca had even drawn in whiskers on her face with eyeliner (or at least, tried to, before Lola started crying and throwing a fit). But aside from the pictures that they sent to Grams and his mom and posted on Facerange, they hadn't been able to do anything since she was too young. And the year before, she'd been too afraid of the ghosts and monsters on display in all the store windows and the TV commercials that even the suggestion of trick-or-treating had caused tears, even after Drew tried explaining to her that it was all fake and it meant a ton of free candy at the end of the night. But this year, Lola had talked of nothing else since the stores started putting out their Halloween stuff in September – all of the kids in her preschool class were going trick-or-treating, and Lola had been begging them daily to be a "scary monster".

Of course Lola has to be something scary, he thinks. He's not just a little proud of that. Let the other girls be princesses and Dorothys and ladybugs – his kid's going to give a big "fuck you" to fear and parade around as a scary monster. She'd been practicing her "growl" for days now, following him around the house and making faces, scratching him with her fingers and saying they were "cwaws, Daddy" when he asked her what she was doing.

"When's the exam?"

Drew watches a pair of young boys chase each other down the street in their Incredible Hulk backpacks. "Day after Halloween."

"Do you know what you need to get?"

"Uh, a good mark?"

"No, idiot. I mean, the highest mark you need to pass the class."

Drew stares at him. "I dunno. Whatever a good mark is."

Adam rolls his eyes. "And this professor's had you twice already? I'm surprised she hasn't banned you from the classroom yet. Well, third time's got to be the charm, right? Or fourth? Or twenty-seventh?" he laughs.

"Shut up," Drew says. "I just need enough to get a C+. That's what I need to pass the semester."

It takes a minute for Adam to stop laughing. He looks at Drew, wide-eyed. "Dude, I never – and I mean, NEVER – thought I'd see the day when you cared about school. Did you get another concussion that I didn't hear about? Brain surgery?"

"I never wanted to care about school before," Drew points out. "School was so pointless when I was stuck listening to lectures about stuff I don't care about."

"And you care about accounting?"

"No. But I want to be done with it. I finished all my other business pre-reqs. This is the only thing keeping me from being done."

"I'm serious," Adam tells him. "You dropped out of high school and everything. I never saw you try so much."

"Yeah, well," Drew says, as the light changes and he pulls away from the school, "back when I was in high school, I didn't have a wife and two kids to support."

"More like a wife who's supporting you," Adam grins.

Drew glares at him. "Which is why I need to pass fucking accounting. Getting my AA means getting my degree which means I get a better position at work. Which means…"

"More moolah," Adam finishes.

Drew nods.

Adam smiles. "Aww, look at that," he says. "Drew Torres, all growed up."

Drew shrugs. "Everyone's gotta to do it some time."

His phone buzzes in the cup holder. Adam grabs it and answers, "Drew Torres's phone."

After a moment, he says, "It's still early. Is everything okay?"

Another pause. "Is she okay?"

_She_. A sweat of panic comes over him for a second. Bianca or Lola? The baby?

"What happened?" Drew asks.

Adam waves a hand in his face. "Yeah, that's fine. No, we're on our way back home. We can just meet you there. Okay. Yeah."

Then he hangs up.

"What happened?" Drew repeats.

"Mom says we're done packing for the day," Adam says. "She said just to meet her at the restaurant."

"Is everything okay?"

Adam shrugs. "She says Bianca's just really tired. And they got a lot of the work done already. Mom said they loaded the car so it's all ready to move when you guys can take it over to the new place."

Drew nods without really hearing what his brother says. Bianca. She's been sick almost nonstop for months now, and the doctors had her on pills that were supposed to stop that but never seemed to work for her. She's always tired, and with school ending and work picking up with the holidays coming, she never sleeps enough, even if he tells her it's not good for her or the baby.

"Is she okay?" he asks.

"Mom didn't say anything. Just that she's really tired." He pauses. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Drew pushes down the idea. "No. Just that she's always feeling like shit."

Adam watches him. "Is everything okay with the baby?"

"Yeah." _I hope so._ "It's just rough on Bee."

He reaches over to switch on the radio – the oldies station he loves – and turns up Don Henley before Adam can ask any more questions. His brother looks at him for a long moment, but then turns away, and it makes the knot in Drew's stomach loosen a little when he does. As they drive through a world of grey, voices bleed from songs about hitching a ride on a riverboat queen to singing about Allentown, to wondering who to cling to when the rain sets it. Then after the cry to a wayward son, there's James Taylor, hours of time on the telephone line. Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around.

"_Hey."_

_Bianca doesn't turn to look at him, so instead he stands in the bedroom doorway. She's standing with her back to him at the bedside, folding laundry and ignoring him. _

_Damn it. She's pissed. _

_About what?_

_Drew wracks his mind, trying to figure out what he might have done to piss her off. Did she have a doctor's appointment that he missed? No, they went to one just last week. She couldn't have scheduled another one so fast, could she? He doesn't think so. Did he forget to pick her up something that she'd wanted on his way home? Left his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor again? _

_He can't figure it out, so he decides to play it cool. Arguing with Bianca on the best of days gets him nowhere. Never mind when he's dealing with her and all her weird pregnant craziness. He's spent enough nights in the doghouse because of the weird pregnant craziness. _

"_Whoa." He tries for that charming smile that got him anywhere he wanted in high school. "Did a tornado go off in here?"_

_Bianca still ignores him, folding laundry like she doesn't hear a word he says. He takes a step closer to her, about to snake an arm around her round belly, when he sees the boxes in the corner of the bedroom. _

_The boxes._

_Then it dawns on him, what he was supposed to do today._

_Fuck._

"_Did you take the stuff from the closet over to the new place?" Bianca's back is still turned, and he can tell now by her tense shoulders that yes, she is very mad. _

_He shrugs, his face heating up. _

"_Which closet?" His voice sounds too thin for his liking. He clears imaginary gunk out of his throat, and considers the wisdom in just cutting and running before she can attack. Or will he make it to the door before she gets him? She does have a lot of extra weight on him these days; it might slow her down. _

_Bianca pauses mid-fold. "Guessing that's a no," she says. She tosses the half-folded sweater into the full laundry basket at the corner of the bed, pushing past him roughly as she reaches over to pick it up._

"_Hey," he says, and grabs it before she can. She shouldn't be carrying heavy stuff like that. It's not good for pregnant women to be so stressed. He remembers hearing that when she was pregnant with Lola._

_Then again, if he had taken the boxes over to the new condo when he said he would, she wouldn't be stressed in the first place._

_Drew tries to ignore this, as it makes him feel uneasy and heavy. _

_Bianca whirls around and corners him. The plastic edge of the laundry basket juts uncomfortably into his chest. _

"_Just leave it," she snaps._

_Drew holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."_

_She glares at him before heading down the hall towards Lola's bedroom, empty and unmade, her pillows and stuffed animals thrown everywhere like a brightly-colored wave of plush drowned the place._

"_Bianca," he calls. When she doesn't answer him, he follows her down the hall. "Bee! Look, I'm sorry, okay? I forgot. I'll take them over first thing tomorrow morning, clear out the closet ones, too._

"_You were supposed to do it today!"_

"_Sorry!" I got sidetracked. Finals are next week."_

_Bianca laughs, but it sounds all wrong. "Of course. Wouldn't want to distract you from your studies."_

_The tone could cut him in half. "What's your problem?" he demands._

_She whirls around to face him. "My problem is that you said you'd take those boxes over today. It's today. They're still here."_

"_And I said I'd do it tomorrow!"_

_Her eyes harden. "Fine," she replies coldly. "Do it tomorrow, then."_

_Drew isn't sure if this argument is over or not, but he knows he still lost, somehow. _

"_Okay," he mumbles. "Okay. I will."_

_Bianca stares at him for a moment, one hand on her hip and the other holding the laundry basket. Then she sighs, sounding tired, and goes into Lola's room. After hovering in the doorway for a moment, he follows her inside._

_She pretends not to notice as she stands at Lola's dresser, putting away the newly-folded clothes. He stands there, still feeling heavy and stupid, like the floor might actually sink under his own weight. He focuses on the walls – seafoam green was the name of the paint, he remembers, though why they couldn't just have called it "light green that isn't obnoxiously bright" and had to give it a fancy name like "seafoam green" like it was some super-expensive paint and not a regular can he got at the hardware store – and wonders what color Bianca wants to paint the nursery when they move over to the new place. Then thinking about the new place makes him feel heavy and stupid again, and he can't just stand here in the silence anymore._

"_Look" he says, "why don't I take some of this stuff over."_

_He reaches for some of the boxes where Lola's stuff is packed up, but when he tries to grab it, Bianca says, "Don't touch that."_

_He wonders if she can hear him grinding his teeth. "Do you want me to help or not?"_

_She finally looks at him. "No" she yells. "Just leave it alone!_

"_Okay!" He puts the box down so quickly it almost drops on the floor. Whatever Bee managed to pack inside it rattles and clangs together before steadying itself. His hands on his hips, he stares at the pink rug at the foot of Lola's twin bed. _

_Bianca turns back to the drawer, then turns right back around to face him. "Just, for once, I'd like to know that you're going to do what I ask you to do."_

_Drew groans. "Oh my god." _

_Her face is furious. "I asked you to take the fucking boxes over; I should be able to count on you to take the fucking boxes over!"_

"_Then I'm sorry I didn't take the fucking boxes over!" He throws his hands in the air. "Fuck, is that all?"_

_Bianca waves her hand at him dismissively. "Yes, Drew, that is all. Now go." She says his name like she's cursing, but her voice wobbles, and it sounds much higher-pitched than it normally is._

_That makes Drew feel about two feet tall, and part of him knows he should just shut up and let her win this, but he looks at the boxes stacked in the corner and the paint on the walls, and suddenly that bit of sanity is shut out by something louder and uglier._

"_Jesus fucking Christ, what is it that you want?" His voice sounds much louder than he feels like he's actually talking, and angrier than he can remember sounding. "You change your goddam mind every fifteen seconds, I never know what the fuck that you actually want me to do. You see me packing shit up, you yell at me for not studying. You see me studying, you get on me about not helping you pack. Then I fail a quiz, and I'm a fuck-up. Well guess what. You married a fuck-up."_

_Bianca looks up at him, eyes red and tears spilling down her face. "I married an asshole who I can't count on for shit! Maybe if you weren't such a drop-out, we would have been able to move out of this house two weeks ago, like we were supposed to!"_

_There's a ringing in Drew's ears, like a bomb exploded. He stares, slightly slack-jawed, rooted in place on the carpet._

"_Wow." He can hear himself reply like he's in a tunnel, and everything echoes." Okay. Fine."_

_Hands on his hips, he nods his head a few times, until the ringing in his ears starts to fade. _

"_Fine," he repeats. "Okay. If you really feel that way, then you can pack all this shit up on your own. Go and fucking move without me." _

_He turns on his heels, swallowing away the image of her swollen, tear-stained face and furious eyes. "Have fun," he calls behind him without turning around. _

_He walks out of Lola's bedroom, and makes it to the front door before he realizes that she's yelling for him. "Drew! Where are you going?"_

_Her voice cracks on his name._

"_Out," he says. He slams the front door and cutting her off as she yells his name once more._

_He puts his forehead to the front door, breathes deep. He doesn't have his keys or his phone, so he just walks. Down the hall, the stairs, the lobby. Out the door. Down the sidewalk, just keeps walking. He stays out until the sun goes down. His hands are numb. They ache, and the rest of him shivers as his teeth rattle. He huddles into himself, trying to keep out the cold, but his body refuses to stay warm, like he's been gutted from the inside._

"Up ahead."

He hears Adam's voice snap him out of it. "What?"

"Make a left," Adam repeats. "The restaurant's on the right. Across the street from the tire place."

"Oh." Drew turns into the parking lot next to an abandoned-looking grey building that looks way too much like a haunted asylum from a horror movie for Drew's liking. Storm clouds are gathering through the windshield over the city, and the heavy grey sky above the old building only makes it look more run-down and spooky. He shivers and pulls his coat around him, burying his numb fingertips in the deep pockets and hoping for warmth.

The inside of Blacksmith's makes up for the abysmal exterior: inside it's a semi-lit, cozy restaurant that doesn't pretend to be any nicer than it is. The booths are small and the tables crammed tight, and there aren't any flowers or candles or live music. But it smells terrific, and there are other families looking like they're enjoying their own version of Sunday dinner. Drew looks around until he sees Bianca at a booth in the corner, her hair brushed back and trying to get Lola to stop unrolling all the silverware at the table. His mother sits next to his daughter, holding a still-rolled packet away from her as Lola reaches with no success.

His mother's eyes catch his, and for whatever reason Drew feels a too-familiar burn in the pit of his gut. It's just a dinner. Just dinner, with his wife and daughter. And his brother, and his father. His mother just happens to be a guest. It's just a dinner. He can get through it.

He just keeps telling himself that as he takes a seat next to Bianca, leans in for a kiss that tastes like haste and mouthwash. _Someone's been having morning-noon-and-night-sickness,_ he thinks. Then he's reminded that Bianca spent the afternoon moving shit and being huge and pregnant at the same time, and damn it, why is it Make Drew Feel Like An Asshole Day?

"Feeling okay?" he murmurs.

Bianca shrugs one shoulder, the symbol for _no, but I don't really feel like talking about it, so drop it. _Her palm comes to her forehead, and she closes her eyes as her body slumps over the edge of the table. If possible, he feels like an even crappier person than he already does.

Drew places a hand on the small of her back. "Bee, are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I was just tired, Drew," she snaps.

He withdraws his hand.

"Okay," he says. "Okay."

Bianca sighs. "Did you and Adam get the boxes from the liquor store?"

He nods. "We got as many that would fit in the trunk and the back seat."

"Good," she says. She takes a deep breath and runs a hand through her hair. "We should probably box up the kitchen tomorrow."

He watches her take one hand and rest it on her swollen stomach, then take the other one and use it to prop up her drooping head.

"Babe," he whispers, leaning in, "we can take a day off tomorrow, if you want. Or just you. Adam and I can handle the kitchen. If you need a break…"

"Let's just get this over with," she interrupts. "Your family's only in town until Sunday. Might as well move over as much shit as we can."

Her voice cut off abruptly, but not before Drew heard her unspoken words: _since we can't afford movers to do it for us_.

His stomach turns into a knot, but before he has time to dwell on it there's a waiter in his face listing off the house specials, and recommending the wines. His mother orders one for herself, while Adam and his dad order something on draft. Bianca orders chocolate milk for Lola, and just asks him if they have any ginger ale.

"Not sure," he says. "We got Sprite. That work?"

Drew watches the annoyance flash across her face – _no, it doesn't work, I fucking said ginger ale, since when is that the same thing as Sprite, you idiot? _– but she just sounds resigned when she says, "yeah, that'll be fine" and reminds the waiter to bring the kid's drink with a sealed lid and a bendy straw.

Drew orders a soda for himself and watches Bianca. He can tell that his mother is watching her too, and seeing the same thing he is – the circles under the eyes, the slump of her shoulders, the too-pale color of her skin. His wife had to move a bunch of big, heavy things because of him, and he fought with her over some stupid boxes when she's been feeling sick nonstop.

And not only is he the asshole who did all that to his pregnant wife, but he's the asshole that made her cry.

He knows that he'll be spending probably the rest of his life trying to make it up to Bianca for being that asshole, but whatever, she can kill him later. Risking life and limb, he reaches a hand over the table and takes one of his wife's in his own, and just closes his over her fingers.

She doesn't look at him, but she doesn't pull away either, which he considers a good sign. He runs his thumb over her wedding band, and after a moment, Bianca squeezes his hand back.

"Daddy!" Lola squeals.

Moment over.

He turns to her, hand still holding Bianca's underneath the table, and looks rapt with attention. "Yeah?"

Lola doesn't answer, just says "Daddy Daddy Daddy!", and lets out an almost impossibly high-pitched scream that he's surprised doesn't shatter the windows. She squirms out of her seat, trying to reach across the table to get to him.

His mother grabs the back of her jumper and tugs. "Lola, sit down."

"Stop it, Lola," Bianca says, trying to hold her back.

Instead of trying to climb over his mother, Lola instead darts under the table, her head popping up in Drew's lap as she crawls on top of him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He grins at her, his face inches from her own. "Yes?" he teases.

She giggles. "I wanted to show you something, Daddy."

"Wanted to show me something?" He makes his eyes wide with surprise. "What did you need to show me?"

Instead of answering, Lola just laughs. She presses her forehead to his, and grabs onto his shirt collar. He can smell the spice of leaves on her from earlier, and the sweat from running, the cold autumn air. Her cheeks are bright red and her eyes glowing. Good, he thinks, kissing her neck as she writhes and giggles. At least someone's happy.

"She needs to wash her hands," he hears his mother say. He turns, and she's watching the two of them as if she were watching him and Adam roughhouse on the living room floor when they were twelve, or Gracie yank his tie and make him holler right before they went into Sunday morning church. "She can't eat her food after touching that disgusting floor. You shouldn't let her crawl around like that."

"Mom," he says. The edge in his voice is badly contained. "I don't let her crawl around."

His mother opens her mouth, then looks like she second-guesses the idea. She snaps it shut before she can say anything else, and instead focuses on taking a sip from the glass of water in front of her, staring at the whorls of the tabletop.

Bianca doesn't say anything, just gives him a look. Drew shifts Lola in his lap, wrapping his arms around her pulsing toddler belly while she squirms. He kisses the top of her head, curly like Bianca's, and tries not to look at the look on both his wife's and his mother's face. Across the table, Adam and his dad try to watch the hockey game from the television above the bar, acting like this isn't happening.

"Mom," he says after a beat. "Could you take her?"

His mother hesitates a moment before sliding out of the booth. "Come here, Lola," she says, taking the little girl's hand and leading her to the corner marked RESTROOMS.

As soon as they're out of earshot, Bianca gives him a look. _You promised you'd get along._

Drew doesn't say anything, just focuses on the subtitles running across the television screen as it plays a pet food commercial.

His mom comes back, and slides into the bar seat next to his dad, and Lola climbs in next to her. The waiter comes back with their drink orders, and Bianca takes the kid's cup and slides it down the table towards her.

"Take a drink, Lola," she says.

Lola ignores her. She seems more interested in shaking the salt onto the table than listening.

Audra reaches over and takes the salt shaker out of her hand in one swift grab. "Lola, stop that."

Lola's face screws up. "Noooo!" she hollers, reaching for Audra.

"Knock it off, Lola," Bianca says.

Her daughter ignores her, trying to climb into Audra's lap. When his mom pushes her off of him, she throws her head back and cries out in protest.

Bianca runs her fingers through her hair. "Move," she says to him, sliding out of the booth.

He climbs out of her way as she brushes past him. Dew catches her wrist as she turns to leave. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," she replies, pulling her hand away.

His mom is still trying to keep Lola from salting the table.

"She hasn't been feeling good today," she informs Drew.

He looks over at her. "Yeah, she's been really stressed."

"You think she needs to see a doctor?"

His brows knit together. "It's not like that, Mom."

His mom's mouth tilts down. "She doesn't seem well, Drew."

Her emphasis on his name makes his blood pressure rise. He wonders if his face is as red as it feels, from the heat surging through him.

"I would know if I needed to take her to the doctor, _Mom_," he says. "So would you just leave it?"

Audra looks like she's on the verge of saying something, but she just looks away instead.

"Okay," she says after a moment. "Okay. Forget I said anything."

Drew sucks in a breath. Before he can say anything else his mom turns away, busying herself with looking over the menu.

Across the table, Adam is keeping Lola distracted with his phone. He gives Drew a look –_cut it out, man_ – but keep silent as he cheers Lola on through a game of Cut The Rope.

Drew takes a sip from his Coke, feeling the bubbles almost burn in his stomach. He doesn't know why his mom always has to do the same predictable bullshit, but this is going to be one hell of a dinner if she keeps this up.

**V.**

The bathroom's empty, which makes her eternally grateful. She steps out of the stall, holding onto the door, and leans over the sink, taking a deep breath. She doesn't feel nauseous anymore, just dizzy, and when she looks at her reflection in the mirror the fluorescent lights hurt her eyes and make her stomach turn more.

Maybe she should have just stayed home for dinner. And, she thinks glumly, if Drew is just going to pick Audra apart all evening, she'd wish she just stayed home.

She splashes some water on her face, tries to straighten her hair out. Applies some more mascara, and decides that what's done is done. At least it's dark in the restaurant. Nobody should be looking too carefully to notice she looks like a hag. A huge, pregnant hag.

Bianca hears Lola laughing before she sees the rest of their table. She's sitting across the table from Adam, and it looks like they're playing slap-jack with the Sweet n' Low packets, completely absorbed in their own little game. Watching the two of them makes Bianca instantly, insanely grateful for her brother-in-law in a way that makes her want to cry. She swallows that down as quickly as she can, before anyone at the table can see.

Fucking pregnancy crazy train of hormones. Fuck being this huge and sick and emotional. Fuck it all.

Omar is still watching the game above the bar, but he meets her eyes with a question he doesn't ask. She doesn't know what to say to him as she slides into the bar next to Drew, trying to ignore the spasm in her back. Drew and Audra aren't fighting, she notices, but Audra is staring at her napkin with much more focus than necessary and Drew seems determined to keep his neck craned at an awkward angle to focus on some muted television over the bar that is broadcasting the evening news. In other words, they're trying way, way too hard to avoid meeting each other's eyes.

"Are you feeling all right?" Audra asks.

Beside her, she can feel Drew tense. "Just my back," she replies.

Her eyes narrow. "Are you sure?"

The tension from Drew makes her want to scream. She smiles as best as she can. "Really, Audra. I promise."

Her mother-in-law doesn't look the least bit convinced, but her eyes slide down to her glass of wine and the questions stop.

Bianca looks over at Drew, trying to catch his eye. When he finally looks at her, she glares at him. _Cut this shit out_, her look says. She sends him the vibe, hoping he'll listen for once. She's not really sure what "this shit" is, but whatever it is, he better knock it off _right fucking now._

Drew frowns, but after a minute he shakes his head and sighs, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself.

"Hey," Drew says after a beat of tense silence. He tries to make his voice light. "Lola's been getting pretty excited for Halloween lately." He grins at his daughter. "Tell Nonna what you're dressing up as."

Lola looks up from her sugar-packet-card game with Adam; apparently they've switched to some variation of 52-pick up.

"Scary monster!" Lola says. She smiles at Audra. "I has spikes!"

"Bianca made her a tail," Drew says. He looks over at her and smiles. "It looks great."

"I has spikes!" Lola repeats. She clenches her fists at Audra. "And cwaws! Grrrrrr!"

Adam leans over to her. "Monster at the table!" he says. "Grrrr."

"Grrrr!" Lola shrieks.

"Don't wind her up," Audra warns.

Lola darts under the table again, popping up in front of Adam. "Grr!"

"No yelling inside, Lola," Bianca snaps. Her voice sounds angrier than she meant it to, and Lola shoots her a look that's a mix of wounded and defiant. It's so _Drew_ it would make her laugh if she weren't so damn tired.

"It's okay, Mom," Adam says, but he's looking at Bianca. He puts his arms around Lola, pulling her into his lap.

Audra gives Adam a look, then turns back to Drew and Bianca. "I thought she didn't like Halloween."

Bianca shrugs. "Don't know what happened. She's been really psyched about it since the stores put up decorations last month. I'm taking her trick-or-treating at the high school. They have this little party for the kids, pass out candy."

Drew frowns. "I thought I was taking her."

Bianca raises her eyebrows. "Your exam's the next day."

"I can spare two hours to take her trick-or-treating," Drew argues.

"Bianca's right, Drew," his mother interrupts. "You should take the time to study."

Drew turns to her. "Seriously, Mom?"

"Drew," Bianca says, her voice low.

He ignores her, rounding on his mom. "It's her first real Halloween. I'm not gonna miss it. So please, back off."

"Hey," Adam says evenly, distracting Lola with a roll from the bread basket, "can we not start something right now, please?"

Audra's mouth tightens. Bianca takes a breath, wanting to smack her husband upside the head. Maybe she actually will. She clenches her jaw, waiting for the moment when her hand meets the back of his thick skull.

The waiter chooses that moment to come around and take their orders. Another person around their table causes Drew to deflate, though Audra still looks like she's gritting her teeth.

Drew turns to Bianca. "What's Lola getting?"

She sighs. "I don't know."

"Lola," he asks, "you want grilled cheese or a cheeseburger?"

"Just get her the grilled cheese," Bianca snaps.

Drew frowns. "I just asked her," he says, petulant.

"Girl cheese!" Lola says. "Girl cheese!"

Adam looks between the two of them. "I guess she knows what she wants," he says. His tone is light, like they're having small talk about the weather.

Drew just looks at her, then turns away. Bianca rolls her eyes and stares at her hands in her lap.

Audra looks at the two of them and takes another sip of wine.

"So," Adam asks after a beat, "anyone seen a good movie lately?"

The looks on all of their faces send him digging into what's left of their now-cold bread basket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Soooooo…I didn't mean to put this on the backburner for like, six months, but my old computer all but exploded (with all my in-progress fics on it…which of course were not backed up because I IZ KOLLIGE EDUCATED AND YEAH) and then "Starling" came along and ate up a lot of my time. I also moved again (which is never fun or easy), and my job's kept me pretty busy lately. But I didn't forget about this fic!**

**(Or 'Starling', which I am dying to finish, but haven't had the time between everything else going on in my life lately.)**

**Special thanks to Jay-Ell-Gee for her help, pitch-perfect sense of humor, and overall awesomeness. **

**I.**

Five bites into a burger that should taste like grease and heaven, Drew pushes his plate away and settles himself with tearing off smaller and smaller bites from the bread basket, dunking them in olive oil and swallowing them slowly. His stomach rebels at the thought of taking another cheesy, ketchup-covered bite, and every time he looks over at his mother sitting across the table from him, he pushes the plate further away from him.

Leave it to Audra to ruin a perfectly good cheeseburger.

Beside him, Bianca's taken maybe four bites of her sandwich. Mostly she's been nibbling at the rye bread edges, only taking a bite when she thinks someone is actually looking. She won't look at him, and he can practically feel the tired frustrating coming off her in waves.

Lola, it seems, is the only one who isn't choking on her dinner. Between games of Fruit Ninja with Adam and trying to dump the entire salt shaker on the tabletop, she's snatching fries off Adam's plate, her cheeks smeared with ketchup. The sight makes him smile. At least someone's having fun.

His dad takes a bite of his steak and points at the screen above Drew's head.

"Jays are winning," he remarks.

Drew nods. Adam does, too, but his mom just gives his dad a look, and his dad goes back to slicing his meat and eating quietly, and Drew grits his teeth in the tense silence.

Lola looks at Adam's plate and points.

"All your fwyes are gone!" she says.

Adam frowns. "No!" He points to Bianca's plate. "What about those?"

Lola giggles. "Those not your fwyes!"

"They're not?" Adam says, arching his eyebrow. "Well whose fries are they? I thought they were mine!"

Lola shakes her head. "They Mommy fwyes!"

Bianca grins out of the corner of her mouth, and even his mother is smiling as she takes a sip of her wine glass.

Adam shrugs. "Oh, well," he says, and takes a handful off Bianca's plate. He ignores her indignant "hey!" and her hand as it reaches out to slap his away from her plate.

Lola's face screws up, her cheeks puffing out.

"No, Adams!" she howls. "Mommy fwyes!"

Audra glares at him. "I told you not to wind her up," she hisses.

"Relax, Mom," his brother says. Then, more quietly, "someone needs to."

Doesn't escape Audra, of course.

"What was that?" she says.

Adam's ears turn bright red. "Nothing," he says. "Just saying. Everyone can stop choking on their food and take a breath every now and then."

"Yeah, like that'll happen," Drew mumbles.

Audra looks at him, eyes narrowed. She does that famous head-tilt that means she's smelling blood; the one that used to scare him shitless when he was a kid. He steels against it and glares at the table.

He catches a glance at Bianca's barely-touched food, and wonders if that's all she's going to eat. She needs to eat more; the doctor told her that, the last time they went. Bianca snapped back that she'd be fine to eat and gain more weight, so long as she didn't keep barfing her guts out every time she tried to eat something. The medicine he gave her didn't really help; the last time they ate dinner with his family, Bianca puked up the chicken his mother cooked, and Adam joked that the baby was a vegetarian.

Instead of eating her food, Bianca just aggressively pokes at it. He wonders if he should say anything, then figures he better not, if he wants to avoid getting stabbed with a dinner fork.

A wise move, he decides, when he sees her spear a piece of broccoli and nearly break the stalk in half.

He'll be happy when this whole thing is over – though he bets not nearly as much as Bianca will be. All the sickness, all the weird emotions, all the insane mood swings. Bianca rarely ever cried, before she got pregnant.

He once heard her crying in the living room, trying to hide it over the rush of the sink. They were late on their electric bill, and Bianca was behind on her midterm portfolio. He knew she would just angry and embarrassed if he asked her about why she was crying – and he was never good at figuring out why, or with dealing with it, anyway. So instead, he snuck out of the house and brought home a bottle of her favorite wine and a frozen pizza, two things guaranteed to cheer her up.

"I'm pregnant, Drew," she said when he came back. She'd stopped crying, but her eyes were still red-rimmed and angry-looking. "I can't drink."

He held the pizza box out to her, waving it under her nose. "There aren't any rules against stuffed crust, are there?"

She'd taken a slice, but ended up throwing it back up an hour later, and after rinsing the smell out of her mouth, she crawled into bed and buried herself under the covers right after she put Lola to bed. It was eight-thirty.

Drew had picked up one of her notebooks as he cleaned up the kitchen. Pages and pages of her handwriting, words he didn't understand for classes he'd never take. In the margin of one there was a date and time scrawled – _3:30 14 September – _and when he turned the pages, he found not notes but a list of names:

_Rebecca_

_Olivia_

_Samantha_

_Stella_

_Danielle _

_Nicole_

He'd stayed up until two in the morning typing out the rest of her notes, and when she woke up the next morning he handed her a bagel and said, "I like Samantha."

A stab of guilt goes through him when he remembers _why_ she's been crying, as of late. He takes a huge bite of the burger instead, and hurries to catch a blob of ketchup from falling off his chin and onto his shirt.

Lola giggles when he wipes ketchup off his face.

"Your face is silly," she says.

Drew leans across the table to her.

"Oh, really?" he says. He crosses his eyes, sticking his tongue out. "Does Daddy look silly now?"

Lola squeals.

"Why your face like that?" she demands, pointing at him.

A small smile goes across his mother's face, and even Bianca grins.

Drew catches Adam's eye for a moment. Adam stares back, expressionless, but then turns to Lola.

"Daddy likes being silly," he tells her, ruffling her curls. "Daddy's just a big ol' poopface. Right?"

Lola bursts into another round of laughter at the word "poopface", but Adam just looks at him, like he's trying to tell him something without actually saying it.

Drew always hated this game. For some reason, he always gets it wrong.

Like right now. Adam's face shouldn't look like he's mad or something, but it definitely does.

Drew turns on the most charming smile to his brother. "How's Jess, Adam?" he says sweetly.

Adam scowls.

Bianca looks up from her barely-touched plate. "Did you guys decide to take that trip?"

Drew looks at her. What is she talking about? He looks back at Adam, who apparently understands exactly what Bee is talking about.

Adam shakes his head. "No. Turns out she has something that week. Some family thing. A cousin getting married or something." He shrugs. "It'd probably be better if we went sometime in the summer, anyway. It's apparently the off-season down there, so less tourists."

"Wait," Drew says. "What trip?"

Adam raises an eyebrow at him. "Nothing," he says coolly.

Drew's face heats up, and he looks down at the table, absorbed in picking the seeds off the top of his burger bun.

"I thought you guys were going to do that bed & breakfast thing," Bianca asks.

"We were," Adam sighs. "But then Jess read this article about apparently there's a bigger chance of getting bedbugs at a b&b, so that put an end to THAT idea."

Bianca smiles. "Paranoid much?"

"I didn't know you guys were planning a vacation together," Audra says.

_Neither did I_, Drew thinks.

Adam shrugs. "We thought about it, but…"

He pauses. Drew remembers the conversation earlier in the car, and wonders if THAT'S the reason this mysterious trip fell through.

Adam runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. "Jess has a lot going on with her family right now, and needs to deal with that. So we figured, you know, when things die down. Less drama."

"Is everything okay with her mom?" Bianca asks.

_What? _Drew looks at her, but Bianca ignores him.

"I don't know," Adam says. "She doesn't really tell me. I tried emailing her sister, just saying, 'hey, hope things are okay', but she didn't tell me anything, really."

His brother sigh, letting his head hang down. "I hate having no fucking idea what's going on."

_That makes two of us,_ Drew thinks.

"Language," Audra warns. She's helping Lola dip pieces of her grilled cheese sandwich in ketchup, and keeping her from knocking over the candle in the middle of the table.

Drew keeps picking at his food, going over the idea over and over again. Adam and Bianca, having all these conversations behind his back. Talking about stuff that isn't the stuff they talk about when all of them get together as a family. When do they get all this time to talk, if Adam lives an hour away and Bianca's in school all the time?

Bianca knows all this stuff about Adam that HE doesn't. Why does Adam talk to Bianca about stuff he doesn't mention to Drew? It freaks him out.

_No, it doesn't_, he amends. It doesn't freak him out. It doesn't make him feel angry, either. Just…weird. He didn't know Adam and Bianca, like, talked behind his back about stuff. They have this whole secret relationship or something.

Drew stops himself. _Secret relationship_. He sounds so paranoid. Bianca would laugh in his face if he brought that up.

Still. He couldn't remember the last time Bianca mentioned that she talked to Adam. Or Adam mentioned that he talked to her.

Bianca takes a small sip of her water.

"Sounds tough," she says.

Adam laughs bitterly. "Yeah. I wish she'd just TELL me, already. I mean, I've only been dating her two and a half years."

Bianca opens her mouth, then closes it again. She looks down at her plate, dapping the corners of her mouth free of imaginary food.

"I know it sucks big time," she says quietly, "but try not to get mad at Jess."

She fiddles with the napkin in her hands, staring at the flickering candlelight in the center of the table.

"I mean," Bianca murmurs, "I get it. It's hard to admit you've got shit going in your life sometimes. You just want things to be normal."

She looks up at Drew briefly, almost like she wants to say something. Then she looks back looks down, staring at her full plate. Drew watches her hands twist the napkin, not looking back to him, and wonders what just happened.

"Okay," Adam argues, "and that would work if I was just some guy in her life. But I'm not. I mean, we're getting engaged, I live with her, I've gone on vacation with her family…like, we're talking about having a baby together!"

He shakes his head. "Why is it that she feel like she can't talk to me about shit like this?"

"Not so loud," Audra warns again.

_Light bulb. _

What if, Drew suddenly wonders, the reason Bianca and Adam don't tell him about their talks is because they talk about him? If Adam tells Bianca all this stuff about Jessica that he doesn't share with Drew, then Bianca must share some stuff with Adam about what goes on in their marriage – stuff that Adam never brings up with Drew.

Drew's face suddenly feels flushed. He looks at Bianca, but Lola has her attention, wanting Bianca's help coloring the kids' placemat with the broken crayons the waiter provided.

What could Bianca want to talk about that she doesn't discuss with him? What doesn't she want him to know?

And why doesn't she want him to know it?

**II.**

Right before Lola started sleeping through the night, Bianca thought she was going to leave Drew.

At the time, they were living in the guest room at Audra and Omar's house. They had six dollars in their checking account, and the alternator on Bianca's car had just given out. Drew's hours at work were being cut, and Lola was sick. She coughed and cried and shuddered all night, and nothing anyone could do would soothe her.

It wasn't something she necessarily planned, or imagined. It was just a thought that came to mind whenever she woke up to feed the baby, or changed her millionth diaper of the day, or tried unsuccessfully to stop Lola from crying and tugging on her ears.

Just walk out the door. Walk down the streets, without a baby or a husband. Walk, and keep walking.

Somewhere. Anywhere.

Then Lola ended up in the ICU for an infection, and there was nowhere to walk except up and down the hospital hallway. There was no one except Drew to keep her from screaming her head off at the doctors and nurses who poked and prodded Lola's tiny baby body with needles and made her yell like someone was torturing her. There was no one except for Drew to stay awake with her all night beside the little crib in Intensive Care holding her hand, and just be there, to feel the hell they were both drowning in.

When Lola was released, it was as if some sort of bubble had popped. They treated each other like visitors who just happened to be taking care of the same baby. He would bring home diapers without being asked, and she listened to Audra and tried to sleep when Lola did. Drew got up with the baby when she cried at night, and she let herself leave the house and walk around the neighborhood, letting the cold wind clear her head, and kept walking until her legs ached and feet were sore.

It stayed like that for a while – the two of them dancing around each other, talking but not really, strangers who knew each other very well. Then they moved out of Audra and Omar's. Lola started sleeping through the night. She re-enrolled in school. Drew got more hours. They made ends meet. She didn't think about leaving him, and she hadn't since.

Across the table, Lola is reaching for the slice of pepperoni and olive pizza on Adam's plate. Adam is trying to stop her, and the two of them are laughing like they share a private joke. When Adam sees her over Lola's curly head, he grins at her, and whispers something to Lola.

"Does Mommy have seafood?" he says.

Bianca arches her eyebrow. "What?"

"Mommy likes seafood," Adam says again. "Right, Lola?"

Lola nods, then opens her mouth, exposing a chewed lump of grilled cheese.

Adam smiles at her, and it's so stupid and goofy and _gross_ that Bianca has to smile back.

Lola looks pleased with herself. Adam does, too.

Audra's mouth quirks. "Nice thing to teach her," she remarks.

Drew tenses again. Bianca does, too, a headache blooming on the side of her temple when she does. She rifles through her bag for aspirin, but doesn't find any. _Shit._

Instead of looking at Drew, she focused on the flickering candlelight. Watches Adam letting Lola take a bite of his pizza, Omar watch the game on the TV above them, Audra swirling the remains of her wine in the glass. The smoke curling in the dimness, the shadows cutting across their skin

"_How'd the study group go?"_

_Drew ignores her, going straight to the fridge. He flings the door open with more force than necessary, rattling all the jars on the shelf, and takes out the milk, drinking straight from the carton._

_Bianca grits her teeth. "Want a glass for that?" _

_When Drew acts like he doesn't hear her, she looks down at her textbook and mutters, "Guess not."_

_Drew slams the milk back in the fridge, still not looking at her. Bianca looks over at Lola, who doesn't notice anything._

"_Daddy!" she squeals, holding out her arms to him._

_Drew makes himself smile. "Hey, Princess."_

_He kisses the top of Lola's head and ruffles her hair, then stomps out of the room. Bianca hears the door to their bedroom open and slam shut, and she waits a minute before going after him. _

_She finds him leaning over the bathroom sink, the faucet running while he stares at the water swirling in the porcelain. _

"_Everything okay?" she says, though she can tell by the tense way he's bunching his shoulders that it's definitely not. _

_Again, Drew acts like he hasn't heard her. _

_Bianca folds her arms over her stomach, staring at the steam fogging up the mirror. "Did the study group go okay?"_

_One shoulder twitches. _

_Bianca sighs. "If it didn't go okay, I can help you look over your notes…"_

_Drew's hand comes down on the countertop, harder than either of them expected._

"_Could we please," he mutters, "just talk about anything else?"_

_Bianca sighs. "Okay," she murmurs. _

_He finally warrants her a look. "Did Lola eat?"_

_Bianca rolls her eyes. "No. I let her starve."_

_Drew scowls. "Whatever," he mumbles. _

_Bianca sighs, running a hand through her hair. _

"_Did something else happen?"_

_In the mirror, Drew's face twitches. _

"_No," he says drily. "Nothing happened. Unless you count failing every single one of those stupid fucking practice quizzes and not being able to remember equations and whatever the fuck x is." _

_He throws his hands up in the air. "Like, who gives a fucking shit! None of it even matters! Jesus Christ, I do NOT fucking CARE!"_

_From the kitchen, Bianca hears a chair squeak, and the tiny sound of feet on the tile floor. _

"_Keep your voice down," she hisses, peering into the hallway._

_Drew glares at her, but Lola's footsteps go to the main room, and soon they hear the TV turn on and a cartoon theme song playing. _

_Drew rolls his eyes and leans against the mirror. "Fucking shit," he mumbles. _

"_Oh, shut up," she snaps. "So you failed a practice quiz. Whatever."_

"_A ton of practice quizzes," Drew argues. _

"_Then I'll help you take them!" Bianca says. "Tonight, even. We can sit down together and I'll talk you through them, if that's what you want!"_

_Drew slams his hand against the sink handle, switching the sink off abruptly._

"_What I want is for everyone to get off my back about this pointless BULLSHIT!" he demands. _

_Drew looks like he's about to say something, then bites it back just in time. Instead, he balls his fists into hands, and grits his teeth so hard she's surprised his jaw doesn't crack under the pressure. _

"_I'm doing," he grounds out, every word an effort, "the best. That. I. Can."_

_She shakes her head. "Really? Because it looks like giving up."_

"_No, you don't get it!" he says. "I already failed this class twice, I failed all the homework, I fucked up on all the practice quizzes…"_

"_So take the quizzes again!" Bianca shouts. "And keep taking them until you get it!"_

"_I'm never gonna GET it!" Drew says. "No matter what I do! I'm gonna be forty and still taking this FUCKING goddam class, and I will NEVER pass!"_

"_You would if you just TRY!"_

"_I DO care!" he shouts, pointing to her. "I do; I AM fucking trying!"_

_Bianca stares back at him, his face twisted in fury and frustration. For some reason, all the fight deflates out of her at that moment, and all she can do is stare back at him, the expression sliding off her face._

"_Okay," is all she says. _

_Her lack of effort seems to make him angrier._

"_I am trying!" he repeats. "Jesus Christ, I'm sick of fucking SAYING it!"_

_Her expression doesn't change. "Okay," she repeats._

_Drew glares at her for a moment before turning away, sighing in disgust. Bianca walks out and lets the bathroom door swing shut behind her. A minute later, she hears Drew lock it behind her. _

_She sees Lola sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels. Bianca runs her hands over her face, bracing herself against the closed bathroom door. For some reason, she's out of breath, and can't seem to get it back._

Audra has been watching the two of them silently, her face in the shadows of the dimly lit restaurant. Bianca can't quite look at her mother-in-law as she roots through her bag for an aspirin that isn't going to be there.

"You need something?" Audra asks lightly.

Bianca brushes her hair behind her ears.

"I was just…" she starts, then sighs. "Just looking for a pen."

Audra raises one eyebrow, and Bianca can tell she knows she's lying, but she takes another bite of her salad instead of asking any more questions.

Beside her, Drew rummages in his coat. After a moment, he pulls a pen out of the inside pocket.

Bianca stares at it without taking it from him.

"Thanks," she sighs.

Drew sets it on the table in front of her without a word. She lets it sit there a moment before slipping it into her purse.

Audra takes another sip of wine.

Omar peers at the menu. "Anyone want coffee?" he asks.

Drew takes a bite of his burger. Bianca stares at the congealing vinaigrette pooling on her plate.

Across the table, Adam gives the two of them a look.

"Hey, Lola," he says, "wanna watch the babies?"

He pulls Audra's iPad out of her purse and turns on Netflix, already starting up an episode of _The Rugrats._ Bianca would smile at that if she could; she didn't know people still watched that show.

Lola's eyes light up when the theme song starts to play.

"Yeah!" she says as she straightens in Adam's lap. "I wanna watch the babies, Adams!"

Adam smiles at Bianca over the top of Lola's head and runs a hand through her dark curls. Bianca feels too overwhelmed to smile back, so she just nods her head.

While the theme song plays on, Lola looks up at Adam like she's studying him.

"Adams," she says, her voice low and serious, "I was a babies once."

Adam and Omar burst into laughter. Even Drew smiles, and Audra grins into her wine glass.

"Did you notice she does that?" Audra remarks.

Bianca looks over at Lola, absorbed in her cartoon as Omar points to something on the screen for her. "Does what?"

"Adds an 's' onto the end of her words. And she doesn't say her 'r' sounds much, either."

Beside her, Drew tenses like a clenched fist.

"What's your point," he says, "_Mom?"_

Bianca finds herself holding her breath as Audra skims him over with her eyes, then turns away from him to look at her instead.

"Bianca," she says, "did you think about sending her to speech therapy?"

"Therapy!" Drew says before Bianca has a chance to respond. She can practically _see_ the smoke coming out of his ears. "Are you serious, Mom?"

"Drew, don't," she says raggedly.

But he ignores her, turning the full force of his anger on Audra.

"Lola doesn't _need_ therapy," he growls. "She doesn't _need_ anything. There's nothing wrong with her!"

"Drew," Omar says, "turn it down. Now."

"It's speech therapy, Drew," Audra replies as the both of them ignore her husband. "It's just to help her out."

"She doesn't need help; she's not _stupid_." Drew says the word like it's a curse, practically spitting the syllables out.

Lola turns to look at him, her eyes wide. For the first time all night, she's still and silent.

"Daddy?" she says hesitantly. Her eyes look glassy in the candlelight, and her lower lip juts out like it does right before she's about to cry.

Bianca knows the feeling.

"Andrew," Adam snaps, a warning.

"What's next, huh Mom?" Drew argues. "Advanced classes? University fast-tracking? Academic scholarships?"

Lola lets out a wail at his angry tone, and starts hiccupping on her tears.

Adam glares at his brother.

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses, putting his arms around Lola and shushing her against his shoulder.

"Drew" Omar says, his voice low and angrier than Bianca's ever heard from her always-level-headed father-in-law, "people are staring."

Bianca realizes he's right – people ARE listening to Drew's raised voice. A million years ago, she would have turned right towards them and asked if they were enjoying the show before telling them to go to hell. Now, all she does is run a hand through her hair and try to hold back the need to strangle him with her bare hands.

Drew doesn't seem to notice the people watching them – he only has eyes for Audra.

"She's three years old," he tells her coldly. "Give her a few years before you tell her she's a total fucking failure, okay?"

Audra couldn't have looked worse if Drew actually slapped her. Her face turns red, then completely drains of color. And then her eyes actually glaze over, and for one horrible, horrible second, Bianca is sure Audra will echo her granddaughter and burst out crying in the middle of the restaurant.

Bianca's hand comes down on the table, and she feels the impact all the way to her elbow. Shoving Drew out of the way, she grabs her purse and marches out of the restaurant, ignoring Adam and Audra calling for her to stop.

"Where Mommy go?" she hears Lola cry out, but Bianca doesn't hear the reply. She all but runs out the restaurant door, nearly barreling into a couple walking in who give her a startled look. She rushes past them, stumbling through the tiny gravel lot and fishing in her purse for her car keys.

"Bianca!"

She can hear him running after her, his feet crunching on the gravel. "Bianca, wait!"

She ignores him, trying to hurry to the car, until he reaches out and grabs her arm.

"Let GO of me, Drew!" She yanks her arm back and whirls around to face him.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He scowls. "Audra just pissed me off!"

She shakes her head. "Oh, like you weren't LOOKING for a reason to jump down her throat."

Hurt slashes across his face. "She's the one who started the whole thing! It's not my fault she makes it her job to judge every little thing we do and make us feel like fuck-ups!"

Bianca rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says, fishing for her car keys. "You need to get over yourself."

She expects Drew to follow her to the car, but instead she hears him yell, "You always take her side!"

Something inside her snaps.

"Because you do this _every fucking time!"_ She stomps toward him. "Can we not have minute where you aren't trying to start a stupid fight!"

She shoves him in the chest, beating against his shoulder with her fists.

"Audra is _my family too! _And you can't even _try_ to care about that, because you're so _fucking_ stupid!"

His face drains of color when she says that, and she turns back around, marching towards the car.

"You let her ruin everything!" he shouts across the parking lot.

Bianca turns to him one last time. "Go to Hell!"

She flings the car door open, pulling out of the parking lot so quickly the tires squeal. New rain starts to beat lightly down on the windshield as her throat tightens, and when she realizes she can't see the road she pulls over into a gas station parking lot to calm down. She beats her arms on the steering wheel until she accidentally hits the horn, and then she lets herself yell out in frustration before forcing herself to take a long, slow breath.

The baby is kicking like crazy inside her. Bianca wonders if she's feeling everything Bianca is, all the tension and anger and unbelievable frustration. That makes her take another deep breath, and close her eyes to let some of the energy drain away. After a moment the urge to let out another scream passes.

Bianca leans back in her seat, reclining it just a bit. The radio is set to one of Drew's pre-sets, an oldies station, and Foreigner is running at a low hum through the car. She switches the station to a country song, something she's never heard before and would ordinarily never listen to, but for some reason finds it weirdly calming. She leaves the volume low and lets the steel guitar wash over her.

Outside, the rain is still falling at the same easy pace. The reflection of the streetlights through the rain-covered glass turn her windshield into a galaxy, and she traces the pattern of rain drops until they disappear.

From inside her purse, Bianca's phone buzzes. She closes her eyes and waits a moment, hoping it'll stop. When it just keeps ringing, she picks it up and realizes it's Audra calling instead of Drew.

She stops just short of answering it, and wonders why she doesn't. The phone keeps ringing, and Bianca turns it on silent. She sends a text to Audra to let her know she's all right, and then throws it on the backseat.

The country station is still on the radio, as the steady rain falls outside. A song about a lonely train is playing as the raindrops glimmer like damp stars on her windshield, smeared and shifting constellations that dazzle the road below; like she's walking over the night.

**III.**

Drew watches Bianca drive away in a squeal of gravel and rain. For a moment, all he can do is stand in the parking lot with his hands balled into fists.

Behind him, he can hear footsteps, and Adam appears at his side, his face furious.

"What the hell, man?" he demands.

"Screw off," Drew mumbles, pushing away from him.

Adam doesn't take the hint.

"So that's it?" he shouts. "You're just letting her take off?"

Drew ignores him, marching through the parking lot. His jaw aches from grinding his teeth.

It isn't _fair. _All Audra did was fucking pick them apart the entire goddam dinner, and Bianca sticks up for _her?_ When all she did was tell them that their kid was already fucked up at three years old, AND needed therapy? When she basically told them they were failures who screwed up their kid's entire life?

_Of course_ Lola could never measure up to Audra. No one ever did. _Nobody_ was ever good enough. All she ever saw was how everyone else couldn't do what she wanted. All she EVER saw was how people _failed_ her.

Drew's hands ball into fists at the thought. It's one thing to call Drew dumb – like Audra hasn't done _that_ his entire life. But to say that about his _daughter?_

And, on top of ALL that, calls him a shitty husband?

Fucking Audra. She ruins _everything_.

Behind him, Adam is still yelling.

"You're being a total shithead, you know that?" He reaches out and grabs Drew's shoulder, trying to stop him.

Drew finally whirls around. "I said BACK OFF, Adam!"

He stands up straight and towers over his brother, for full effect. Maybe he should give Adam a piece of his mind, while they're apparently going to duke it out. Like HE wasn't being a total shithead, too, not even bothering to stop Audra from picking him apart.

Goddamit, why was _everyone_ so determined to watch him get chewed up and spit back out? Did they all think he was as useless as she did?

Instead of hitting him, Adam glares back stonily.

"Fine." He pushes Drew back. "Keep being an asshole. But I wouldn't go back in there if I were you."

His brother storms off, leaving Drew standing in the middle of the parking lot. His arms are doing that stupid swinging-at-their-side thing again, and he doesn't know what to do with them. He shoves them in his pockets, but they stick out stupidly, and he doesn't know what else to do with them except let them fall, useless and pathetic.

It takes him a minute to figure out it's raining. A car horn honks, and Drew realizes that it's honking at _him_, to get out of the way. He takes a few steps toward the restaurant, then remembers his mother and doesn't want to take another step.

Why do things always end up this way? Why is it always so fucking messed up?

His hands curl into fists again. He knows why.

_Audra. _

Turning the thought over, Drew can only get angrier. Why does everyone _always_ stand with Audra on this, when all she does is sit there and judge every fucking move he and Bianca make? Why does everyone thing he doesn't have a right to get mad, when she tells them they're shitty parents who screwed up their kid? How is he supposed to act when Audra has his low paychecks, his twice-failed accounting course, his past-due notice on their apartment, and Bianca's unhappiness to back up her claim that he's as useless and terrible as she makes him out to be?

How is any of that supposed to NOT make Drew angry?

Drew sways in place for a moment, not sure what to do with himself. Around him, the rain still falls.

He promised when he proposed to Bianca that he would take care of the both of them.

_Strike One: _His wife was sick and miserable, and he couldn't make her feel any better.

He promised when Lola was born that he'd never do anything to hurt her; she'd never be a fucked-up mess like he was.

_Strike Two:_ His kid apparently needed therapy; clearly, he was such a terrible parent that he already screwed up their kid before she even started preschool.

He promised when he held Bianca's hand and looked at Lola in her glass cradle in the ICU three years ago that he'd never fail his family ever again; that no matter what happened, he'd save them from it.

_Strike Three:_

They were broke, practically homeless, living off of financial aid checks and his laughable salary, the new baby they couldn't afford was tearing Bianca apart from the inside, everyone in the entire _universe_ understood accounting except him, and he was doomed to be a drop-out forever.

Everything his mom thought about him was basically true.

No wonder Bianca didn't take his side against Audra.

The rain comes down, but he feels hot – too hot to be standing in winter wind with rain coming down. Drew shifts from foot to foot on the uneven gravel. He should probably move at some point – or else people would wonder why he was standing in the middle of a parking lot with his huge arms swaying and his face beet red like he was some doofus. But instead he stands there, toeing the gravel with the edge of his shoes. The darkness out here feels good; felt right. Even the dimness of the restaurant feels too bright for him. Even the candlelight was too…pure, somehow. Too good.

The dark and sketchy parking lot felt better for him – the crunch of footsteps, the harsh call of the wind, the rain like needles stabbing him like he deserves.

**IV.**

"Knock knock."

Before she can say anything or look up from her laundry, Adam pokes his head in the doorway. "Don't worry, it's just me."

She stares at him for a long moment. "Where's Drew?"

"Back at the restaurant."

She raises her eyebrows. "He doesn't have the car."

"I know." Adam shrugs. "The way I see it, he wants to mess everything up, he can find his own way home. My parents can drive him."

She scoffs. "That'll be a fun ride."

Adam shakes his head. "Serves him right."

Bianca agrees with him, but doesn't say so. Instead, she takes the clean dish towel she pulled out of the dryer and folds it on top of her round stomach, then places it in the cabinet next to the dishwasher. "Just another night in the Torres-DeSousa house," she mumbles.

Adam reaches around her and grabs one of the towels, helping her fold. "Yeah. I'd say we were all out in fine form tonight."

Bianca pauses mid-fold, running her fingers over the rough, overwashed texture of the dishrag.

"How bad do you think everything's fucked up now?" she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn't really want the answer to that, but Adam says, "I dunno. I mean, if I had to rate it on a scale of, like, 'one' to 'Katie Matlin Attending Your Wedding'…"

He pauses for a laugh, but when Bianca bites her lip and looks away instead, his face softens.

"Bianca," Adam says. "We all know he's being a jerk. No one's mad, okay?"

When she doesn't answer him, Adam sighs and looks at the boxes stacked in the corner.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" he asks quietly.

At that, she almost lets out the tears she's been holding back fall. What _can_ he do? Hire movers? Win them the lottery? Find a time machine?

She mentally slaps herself. _Get a fucking grip, already. _

"You can wrap the glass," she says finally.

Adam nods. "Will do."

He grabs some of the clean dishrags on the kitchen table and starts wrapping their glassware in it, gently placing them in the boxes. Bianca just watches for a moment, wondering if she should go over and kiss her brother-in-law.

"You know," Adam says casually as she watches him, "I've been known to wrap some serious glass. In fact, I'm the best damn glass-wrapper around."

She arches an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a euphemism?"

He gives her a sideways grin, which she can't help but return.

"I was going for something like, 'wrap it, don't tap it," he says, and Bianca groans, swatting him with a dishrag, "but I don't think it would have worked as well as it did in my head." He rolls another glass into a dishrag and holds it up for her. "I guess you'll just have to admire my craftsmanship."

"I've noticed," she says drily. "You're so careful wrapping all our junk."

Adam smirks when Bianca realizes what she just said.

"Well," he says, his eyes glinting, "it's always important to be careful wrapping your junk." He looks pointedly at her swollen belly. "Or so people tell me."

He snickers at his own joke while Bianca rolls her eyes.

"For the record," Adam says when he stops laughing, "that was WAY better than where I was originally going with this."

They both laugh, but his face turns serious when he places the last of the glasses in the box.

Bianca watches his hands stop moving for a moment as he pauses, staring at the glass in his hand. It makes her look away from him.

She folds the final towel and sets it into the drawer, pausing before shutting the drawer.

How could he not resent the hell out of her and Drew? All Adam and Jessica want is to have a normal family together. They'd be great parents. But no matter how badly they want it, it's going to be nothing but a struggle. Meanwhile, she and Drew can't help but get knocked up with kids they can't even afford.

And where do they end up? Practically homeless, broke, and needing Adam and his family to pick their asses up off the ground. Again.

Their whole lives would fall apart in a second if it weren't for the Torreses, and everyone knows it.

"He always has to do this," she mutters. "You think he'd know better by now."

Adam rolls his eyes. "Yeah. But, again – idiot."

Bianca shakes her head. "It's not even that."

Her voice drops down to a whisper, and she looks up at him. "We wouldn't be anywhere without you guys."

Adam shakes his head. "You guys have survived this long. You're doing something right, most likely."

Bianca ignores his flippant tone. "It's true, and you know it."

She sighs, then winces as a jolt of pain runs through her back. She leans against the sink, hanging her head and breathing through it.

"Whoa," Adam says worriedly. He takes a step closer to her. "You all right?"

When he hesitantly puts a hand on her shoulder, Bianca looks up at him.

"You know I'm right," she giggles, sounding weirdly stoned. Something about the pain is making her loopy. Or maybe that's the lack of sleep talking. "Drew and I would be totally fucked without you guys."

Adam grips her shoulder more tightly. "You say that like we're gonna put you guys out on the streets."

She turns to him. Adam doesn't have to bend to be eye-level with her. They're almost always the same height.

Dimly, deliriously, she remembers ballroom class, putting her arms around his neck and his hands on her waist. Prom, spinning around under the sliver lights as they laughed, watching them twinkle off their skin. The glint and the glimmer, and it felt like music, like everything was suddenly lighter and more free than it had been in months.

"We're not going anywhere, okay?" he tells her. "Drew tried to do that years ago, and we're still here." He looks her in the eye. "You're family, too."

Bianca has to look away from him; she's always had trouble when he looks at her like that – as far as she can remember, as long as she's known him. Something about the hope there, the surety. It's not ever been something she understood, or experienced.

She wonders how Adam, of all people, can hold onto that.

"Plus," he adds, "My mom would chain herself to a comet before she stopped talking to you or the kids."

She makes herself meet his eyes, and tries to feel the reassurance there. It's the same kind that's always been there.

Maybe he stays hopeful because he's had so many disappointments, she thinks. Maybe it's the best thing he can do. Either that or drown in it, and what could does that do anybody.

"You better be there, too, A.T.," she manages to reply.

The old nickname makes him smile.

"You kidding?" he arches an eyebrow. "Where the hell would those girls BE without Uncle Adam?"

**V.**

The ride home from the restaurant was nothing short of torture.

When he came back inside and realized that his brother had left with their only other car, his dad told him curtly that he'd need to ride home with them. Drew opened his mouth to argue, then realized he didn't exactly have other options. He didn't have money for a cab, and he was fairly positive Adam or Bianca wouldn't drive all the way back here to pick him up.

He ended up sitting in the backseat with Lola, watching _Go Diego Go _with her on his phone's little screen while Lola chattered. In the front seat, his mother sat completely still and stony, not saying a word to anyone. His dad didn't either, so Drew just stayed quiet and stared out the window.

When they get to his place, he unhooks Lola from the car seat and carries her inside, not looking at either of his parents as they trail behind them. When he gets to the door, he realizes he doesn't have the car keys – Adam took them – so he has to wait until his mother uses the spare she has on her set of car keys to unlock the door to his own home.

The house is already dark when they go inside, and the bedroom door is shut with no light coming from underneath the door. Bianca doesn't come out, but his mother slips into the bedroom quietly and lets the door click behind her.

"Lola needs a bath," Drew says, to no one in particular.

His dad shrugs. "You want me to take her?"

Drew nods, and his dad takes Lola into the bathroom. Drew stands there, staring at the bedroom door staring at him, the blank wood of the closed door staring at him like some sort of accusation.

_It's dark when he gets home, and a light snow has already started to fall on his shoulders. He doesn't care so much about it, mostly because he's stopped feeling much of anything. _

_The lights are turned off when he steps inside the house, and he can see their bedroom door is already shut, the lights turned off. He stares at the closed door for a long moment, wondering if she locked the door on him. He places his hand on the knob but doesn't turn it, and instead presses his cold forehead against the door. Closes his eyes, and all he can see is Bianca's face, streaked with tears, and the anger in her eyes. _

"_**Well, guess what. You married a fuck-up."**_

"_**I married an asshole I can't count on for shit!"**_

"_Daddy!"_

_A sharp wail startles him. He turns around to find Lola standing in the hallway, her nightshirt askew and face red with tears, whimpering as she tries to catch her breath._

_He bends down to her height. "Come here, baby," he murmurs, lifting her into his arms. "What it is?"_

_Lola's legs wrap around his middle as she clings to him, pressing her tear-soaked face into his neck._

"_Come lay down with me," she wails. _

_She pulls back, looking at him as she blinks the sleep and fresh tears out of her eyes. She looks scared, and exhausted, and pleading, and he already sees himself trying to make room among her stuffed animals, holding her until she falls asleep in his arms. _

"_What is it?" he repeats, even though it doesn't matter. _

_Lola grips him harder, a shudder rippling through her as she cries into his collar. _

"_It's okay," he murmurs, rocking her gently. He glances over his shoulder at the still-closed bedroom door, then carries Lola to her rumpled pink bed. "It's okay, shhh."_

"_**I married an asshole I can't count on for shit!"**_

_When Lola's sobs finally die down, Drew stays with her, running his fingers through her hair. The night closes in around him, and he just sits in Lola's narrow little bed, listening to her breathe. He closes his eyes, letting the darkness press on him as the shadows creep by. _

"What are we doing?"

Drew blinks. "Huh?"

His dad's reflection peers at him in the mirror of the bathroom.

"What are we doing?" he asks again, holding up a bottle of shampoo. "Hair wash, or just soap?"

"Oh." Behind his dad, the faucet is running. Lola sits in the water, playing with one her Barbies, making it dive off the ledge.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I guess."

In the mirror, his dad raises an eyebrow. "Which one?"

Drew glances at his father's expectant reflection before he turns to the closed bedroom door.

**VI.**

The door creaks open. Bianca holds still underneath the covers, trying to look sound asleep, but relaxes slightly when she hears the light footsteps on the hardwood floor.

Not Drew.

The footsteps turn and the door handle rattles again, but Bianca sits up and says, "Is everything okay?"

Audra turns around.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I just wanted to check on you."

"No, it's okay." She leans against the headboard, trying to ease the ache in her back. "I was just lying down."

Audra's hand is still on the door handle.

"I'm so sorry about Drew," Bianca says.

Audra holds her hand up. "Bianca, don't –"

"I shouldn't have run out on you guys, but it had nothing to do with you." She shakes her head. "He's being awful, and I'm SO sorry."

Audra looks away. "You don't need to blame yourself for my son," she says.

Bianca stares at the duvet, bunching it up between her fingers.

"I don't know _what_ I did to make him hate me so much," Audra mutters, almost to herself, "but apparently it's worth him kicking me out of my own family."

"He didn't kick you out," Bianca replies.

Audra shakes her head. She hesitates a moment, then comes over and sits on the edge of the bed, skimming the bedcovers with her palm.

"Be honest with me," she says quietly. "Do I need to take you to a doctor?"

Bianca shakes her head. "Audra, I'm fine, seriously..."

"You just don't _seem_ fine," Audra argues. "You're exhausted, you're sick all the time…" she laughs bitterly. "And Drew certainly isn't making things less stressful for you."

Bianca winces, this time not from her back pain.

"He's trying," she mumbles.

Audra just shakes her head.

"You just…" she begins, then bites her lip. She runs her hand over the bedcovers, brushing over the wrinkles, and fiddles with a loose thread.

"I'm just _so_ worried about you two," Audra whispers.

Her hand reaches over, and slides on top of Bianca's.

"You know," she says after a long moment, "the reason I wasn't happy when you and Drew got married had nothing to do with you. It's not that I thought you shouldn't be with him, or that I didn't think you loved him enough, or anything like that. I just…I couldn't support the fact that your lives were going to be _so_ hard."

She closes her fingers over Bianca's. "I never wanted this to happen to you," she murmurs.

Audra squeezes her hand, and the two of them just sit there in the silence and shadows. From the other side of the door, Bianca can hear water running from the bathtub, and a shrill burst of giggles as Omar murmurs something she can't hear over the rush of the faucet.

"We'll get through it," Bianca whispers. "It'll get better."

Audra almost smiles.

"You sound like Drew," she says, shaking her head. "He's always thinking things just one day magically get easier."

Bianca smoothes the covers over her legs, staring at the pattern. What other choice does she have?

She closes her eyes a moment. _Cut the crap,_ she scolds herself.

Bianca stares at her hand in Audra's, the glint of their wedding bands. She's still wearing the engagement ring Audra gave her, the one that belonged to her grandmother. The white opal glows like moonlight on her finger. Audra gave it to her when she turned twenty-one, at the baby shower before Lola was born. Audra had tears in her eyes when she gave it to Bianca, and said, "I'm glad I still have a daughter to give this to."

"I'm really glad you're here," Bianca says, her voice low and gravelly. There's a feeling like a fist in her throat that she can't swallow away.

Audra looks away a moment before she answers. When she looks up, her eyes are dry, but her mouth is tilted downward, like she's holding something back.

"Well," she says, her voice sounding tight, "that's good. Because I don't want to go anywhere."

Bianca grips her hand. "Don't," she whispers.

Audra leans forward and puts her arms around her. Her hand comes up and ruffles the back of Bianca's hair, and for a moment, she just sits there and lets Bianca rest on her shoulder.

"I'm not," she says fiercely. "I won't."

**VII.**

The kitchen is dark and empty, but there's the case of beer sitting in the corner, untouched. He grabs himself one and heads outside into the dark rain, standing by the stairs. He watches as the rain falls onto the roofs of the cars below, and follows the bob of headlights on the highway below.

The beer isn't cold and it makes his empty stomach fizz, but it doesn't matter much to him. He stands on the hallway deck of the apartment building, feeling the cold air hit him like a fist. He can hear the highway all the way from here; funny how whenever it rained, the road always sounded closer and louder, the whoosh and roar of the engines magnified on the slick asphalt.

Bianca's asleep, and she hadn't said goodnight to him. Lola was bathed and ready for bed, and his parents are heading out soon. He'd be alone in the home with his family, with nothing but the rain and the highway to signal the passing hours.

The wind blows more silver rain into his face. It's damp and chilling to the bones out here, but inside isn't going to be any warmer.

He swirls the rest of his beer in the bottle, then downs it in one gulp. No point in standing in the freezing rain any longer, unless he wants to sleep out here.

All things considered, it's not the worst idea.

He shoves the front door open so hard it bangs against the wall inside. _Shit_. Hopes he didn't wake up Lola. Or Bianca.

There's a noise from the kitchen, like glasses clinking. He peers into the kitchen, but instead of Dad, he sees his mother, picking dishes off the shelves of their cupboards and neatly wrapping them in clean dishrags to set in the moving boxes lining the countertops.

Audra looks up when he steps inside, and Drew hovers in the doorway, not sure if he should turn tail and head to the bedroom. Then he remembers that Bianca's in there, and the last thing she wants is to see him. He wonders if he should just take his chances and pretend to go around the corner for a gallon of OJ.

Before he can decide, Audra looks away from him, focusing on the floor.

"Dad's with Lola. She wanted him to tuck her in."

Drew nods, staring at the floor. His hands rest on his hips when he feels stupid letting them swing.

His mother avoids his eyes. She stares in the open dishwasher, grabbing a blue mug and examining it for imaginary cracks.

"Do you have any more dishrags?" she says after a moment. "These coffee cups need to be wrapped."

Drew keeps his eyes on the tile, following the blue and white pattern.

"No," he says. Is that a sauce stain? He should probably mop that up.

When he finally looks up, she's staring at him. She meets his eyes briefly, but then her eyes dart back to the dishwasher rack.

"We have newspaper," he says. His voice sounds like he's going through a tunnel.

His mother nods. Drew goes into the family room and grabs the mess of today's paper unraveling on the coffee table, and before he knows what he's doing he stands on the other side of the dishwasher and begins putting away the plates while his mother slowly and carefully wraps the coffee cups.

Drew finally thinks he understands the meaning of the phrase "silence is deafening", because this is officially the LOUDEST silence he's ever heard. Not just because of the crinkle of the newspaper and the sound the plates and cups make when he stacks them in the cabinet, but because he knows his mom is just _dying_ to say something to him. Instead, though, she takes out her words and frustration on arranging their silverware in the empty liquor store boxes, occasionally polishing imaginary dust off them with the hem of her shirt.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his mom take a deep breath, turning a cup over in her hands a few times.

"Do you guys need any more of these?" she asks quietly.

Drew stares at a meat sauce stain rimmed on the edge of a plastic bowl. "Coffee cups?" he asks.

"No. Boxes. Do you have enough?"

"Oh." Drew swallows. "Yeah. We have enough."

Audra takes another bit of the newspaper and wraps the mug in her hands.

"Because if you do," she says after a beat, "Dad still has a bunch from when his office moved. So, if you need more…"

"I got enough," Drew says quickly.

Audra pauses, half-reaching into the dishwasher.

"Okay," she murmurs.

Drew stares back into the cabinet, drumming his fingers on the countertop. He should move Lola's Nemo cup to the front. She always wants to drink out of Nemo. It's her favorite. And nobody ever drinks out of those heavy glass cups. They usually just use the blue ones; they don't break in the dishwasher, like the glass ones always do.

"If I need more," he says, "I'll go back to the liquor store." He pauses. "You and Dad don't need to come all the way out here for that."

His mother shrugs one shoulder, barely.

"Well," she says, "if you need it…"

Drew takes Lola's sippy cup with the frog lid out of the top shelf of the dishwasher and dries it off with his t-shirt. He passes it from hand to hand, like tossing a football.

"It's okay, Mom," he mumbles.

She doesn't look at him, just keeps trying to rearrange the contents of the moving boxes.

From down the hall, Drew can hear Lola giggle in her bedroom as his father tucks her in. He wonders what that means for Pop-Pop versus what Drew does when he's the one putting Lola to bed. Lola always asks for him to do it. He even has his own tickle routine – holding the blanket over her as Lola squirms and wriggles in anticipation, and he creeps closer to her singing "tuck, tuck, tuck…TACKLE!". Then he tickles her until she screams. The whole routine ends up with Lola bursting into loud peals of giggles while Drew kisses her face.

He can't hear what his dad is saying to Lola, but he doesn't hear her screaming and giggling. Whatever Pop-Pop does when he tucks her in, it can't be as good as when Daddy does it. Drew's fairly sure of this.

That makes him try to remember how Dad tucked him in when he was little. Did he ever in the first place?

When a loud ripple of laughter echoes down the hall, he and Audra both look up. Drew strains to hear what his dad is saying, but all he hears is him laughing along with Lola.

For some reason, it bothers him that he can't remember if his dad ever tucked him in when he was little. He can't imagine why Dad wouldn't have.

His birthmother? No, probably not. _Definitely_ not. She left in the middle of the night when he was a baby. Nobody had heard from her in twenty-three years. Someone who leaves her baby sleeping in a crib all alone and then disappears forever doesn't tuck her kids in.

Someone had to have done it though, right? If not his dad, then who else?

His mom is looking down the hallway.

"You know," she says, "I was thinking…when it gets closer to the baby being born, your dad and I could take Lola. That way, you guys wouldn't have to figure out what to do with her"

He glances over at her, and she looks back down into the box of coffee cups.

"Just thinking," she says, almost like she's saying it to herself, "one less thing to worry about it."

Drew keeps his eyes focused down the hall. Lola isn't laughing anymore, and he can barely hear his father.

"Yeah," he says, still focused on the low murmur of Dad's voice. "We'll think about it."

If Dad didn't tuck him in, maybe Drew's aunt Kristina did. They lived with her and Uncle Tony for a while, right after his birthmother left.

"We could always take her for a weekend," Mom says. Her voice is still low. "If you ever need. Bianca really looks like she could use a break."

Drew can feel the tips of his ears turning red.

"We got it," he says, his voice clipped. "Okay, Mom?"

Audra blows out a loud breath. Then she pauses, gripping the edge of the countertop. "I'm just trying to help, Drew."

"Yeah, well," Drew says before he can stop himself, "help by not telling me you think I'm a shitty husband and father."

Audra slams the dishwasher shut. "Oh, stop it," she snaps.

He whirls around to face her.

"You think I don't _know_ she's unhappy?" he demands. "You think I can't tell Bianca's exhausted and miserable and stressed out?" He shakes his head. "I'm not that fucking stupid, Mom."

Audra narrows her eyes at him, then looks away.

"I don't even know _why_ I keep trying anymore," she sighs.

"I don't know, either," Drew replies.

She slams the last of the newspaper down on the countertop and puts her hands on her hips. Drew finds himself taking a step back, almost a reflex. It's something he remembers well from when he would wilt under her stare, from a kid to a teenager, right up until he packed up and moved in with Fiona.

It's been a few years, but he can feel himself actually _shrinking_ under that stare.

Her hands clench and unclench, and she shakes her head.

"I know you hate me," she says slowly, "but I am still your family. And Bianca, and Lola, and that baby are, too. They're my family."

Her voice wobbles a little on that last word, and she bites her lip. For a second, Drew's horrified to think he sees actual _tears_ in her eyes, but before he can be sure, his mother blinks and turns away from him.

"And I HATE," she continues through gritted teeth, "that I can't say anything to you anymore. Because I'm _so_ scared you are going to cut me out of their lives forever, and I will _never_ see them again."

Drew scowls. "Don't be so dramatic."

His mother's face is full-on Scary Mom Mode.

"Says the guy who ran away to Vegas and got married at seventeen," she bites back.

He makes himself stand up as straight as he can. He doesn't always remember that he's actually taller than she is.

"And it drives you NUTS that you couldn't stop us," he argues.

Audra lets out a dry laugh.

"Stop you from what?" she asks. She gestures around the semi-packed kitchen. "All of this?"

She shakes her head as another bitter laugh escapes her.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asks, almost smiling. "Because you're right. I didn't stop you."

He opens his mouth, then realizes he has nothing to say. His mom looks away, and Drew realizes he's once again just standing there, with his hands still hanging stupidly, only now his mouth is hanging open, so he looks even _stupider_ than usual. Everything about him feels wrong, like he has no idea how to hold himself anymore – how to move his own limbs without looking like some fucking idiot, or how to even stand in his own home. It's like he's too big for the air.

He wonders when his own fucking house started feeling like this to him – when it suddenly felt like things were pushing him out – but all he does his rub a hand over his jaw and stare at the spot on the tiles he needs to wipe up.

He needs a dishrag.

"I don't…" Audra suddenly begins.

Then she stops. She looks over at him, then they both look away at the same time.

His mother stares at her hands.

"I don't think you're a bad husband," she says. "Or a bad father."

Drew runs his hand on the countertop. "Okay, Mom," he mumbles.

He opens the cabinet where Bianca usually keeps them, but there aren't any folded in there.

"I _don't,_" she repeats.

His mother looks up again, and this time doesn't look away.

"I know you love them," she whispers. "I know you'd do anything for them."

She looks back down at the floor, her hands on her hips. She has a dishrag in her hands, and she's bunching it nervously in her clenched fist.

"I just want you to know," she finishes, "that I would do the same for you."

Drew sways on his feet for a moment. He presses against the countertop, and suddenly remembers where all the dishrags went.

"I know, Mom," he says. His tongue feels thick and dry, the words choking out of his mouth.

His mother sniffs, like she might be swallowing back tears. It makes his stomach sink to hear that noise.

"Mom." He makes himself take a step closer to his mother. She's still looking away from him, biting her lip, and still doesn't look up when he reaches over and takes the dishrag out of her hands.

"I don't hate you," he murmurs.

His mother wipes her face with the back of her hand.

"Well," she says after a beat, "that's good to know."

For a moment, Drew just stands there, twisting the rag in his hands. His mother wipes her eyes once more, but when she looks up he sees her eyes are dry, and she takes another glass from the dishwasher, staring at it like she has laser vision.

"You wanna stay the night?" he blurts out.

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

He nods, feeling as surprised as she looks.

"Yeah," he says. "I mean, the guest room's all packed, but…" he shrugs. "The bed works."

His mom almost laughs at that, putting her hands on her hips.

"Your dad and I should really go back to the hotel," she says. "He wants to get an early start tomorrow morning."

"But if you stay," he says, arguing even though he doesn't really know why, "you can get started right away. Or…I don't know. Go out for breakfast or something. You and Bianca could have a break before we get started. I bet she'd love that. I can watch Lola, or Adam can. It'll be fun!"

His mom smiles, for real this time. Her hands come up to the sides of his face, and her palms gently reach up and cup his cheeks. He's too astonished to move, and he doesn't exactly dislike the feeling.

For a moment, she just stands there with her hands on his face, her fingers warm and tingling on his rain-damp, numb skin.

"I think I really should go," she says, and lets her hands drop gently. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to start packing."

Drew nods. His face feels strange, without her hands there. He doesn't remember the last time he had that feeling.

Then again, he doesn't really remember the last time he let his mom touch him.

She reaches out one more time, her fingers brushing his chin. Then she leans forward, reaching up and kissing his forehead, like he's four and wants a kiss before bedtime.

_That's _what happened when he was little. Now he remembers.

Mom kissed him goodnight, every night. Until Drew was, like, eight or nine, and then decided he was too old for that.

After that, Mom just poked her head in to say goodnight.

Every night.

Her hand hovers there just a moment before drifting downward. It rests on his shoulder briefly, and she skims her palm over it, like there's imaginary dust there.

"I'm gonna say goodnight to Lola," she says. "Then we better head back."

He looks down, the dishrag still twisted in his hands.

"She'll like that," he mumbles.

Lola _would_ like that, he knew. She'd love Mom saying goodnight. Just like she loved it when his dad did, or her Uncle Adam.

Just like she loved it when Drew tucked her into bed, and kissed her as she went to sleep.

Every night.

His mother nods. Before she goes, she pauses in the kitchen doorway and turns around to face him one last time.

"I've missed you," she whispers. "Just…know that. I miss you. All the time."

**VIII.**

Around 4 AM, when the numbers on the page in front of him start to look like Zelda code and he catches himself staring at the pencil sharpener at the corner of Bianca's desk for fifteen minutes, he decides it's okay to go to sleep.

Before he goes to the bedroom, Drew takes a peek in Lola's open doorway. She's fast asleep like she always is, one side of her body dangled over the edge of the bed and her nightshirt askew, her hair a tight scribble around her face. Lola was always a hard sleeper. Bianca's joked before that she's surprised Lola doesn't take flight in her sleep, with her limbs pinwheeling in the bed like that.

He lets himself smile at his daughter's sprawled, lightly snoring silhouette a moment before heading down the hallway to their bedroom door, slightly ajar.

Bianca is on her side of the bed facing the wall, covers bunched around her waist. Drew can't shake the feeling that he's somehow going to bed empty-handed, and tries to ignore that stab of guilt as he slides in bed beside her.

"Glad you could make it," she mutters, when the mattress creaks under his weight.

Another guilty jolt goes through him. "Did I wake you up?"

He's not sure why he's whispering since she's already awake, but he still tries to shift as little as possible, trying not to move the covers too much as he settles into bed.

"No," Bianca says. "She's been kicking all night." She sighs. "It's really annoying."

In spite of himself, Drew smiles. "Did you tell her Mama kicks back?"

When the only answer he gets is her adjusting the comforter around her, he touches her shoulder, laying the tips of his fingers hesitantly on her skin.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I should have taken the stupid boxes over."

Bianca shifts in the bed. "It's not about the boxes, Drew," she says.

"I know it's not," he says. "But I'm sorry I didn't do what I said I would. You need to be able to count on me."

He slips his arm around her side and takes her hand, running his thumb over her wedding band. He takes it as a good sign when she doesn't pull her hand away.

"I'll do better," he says. "I swear."

To his surprise, he hears her sniffle loudly, followed by a shudder running through her body. She slips her hand out of his, and buries her face in her hands.

_Oh no. _Drew's stomach drops like he's on a roller coaster. He feels sick and horrible and dirty and awful and _worst_. If he wasn't a card-carrying member of Assholes of the Universe before, now he's officially their president.

"Hey," he whispers. His face burns with shame, and he sort of feels like crying himself, if he's being honest. It used to be so rare that Bianca ever cried. And now she cries because he's a jerk. He's a big, dumb loser jerk who makes his pregnant wife cry and ruins everything by being a big, dumb loser jerk.

His own throat feels tight and closed, and he swallows it back.

"Bianca," Drew says, hoping he doesn't sound as completely desperate as he feels, "what do you need me to do?"

Bianca turns her face into the pillow, another long shudder wracking her body.

"Nothing," she says, her voice sounding thick.

Drew stares at her, feeling sick. Bianca curls further away from him and more into a ball. Funny, he thinks dimly, that even with her baby-stretched stomach, she still looks tiny to him. Seeing her curl around it makes her look fragile and vulnerable – two things he never, ever remembered associating with his wife. EVER. Not when they were teenagers, and not now.

Hell, he's seen her give birth – an experience so singularly terrifying and disgusting and horrendously painful (though he never mentioned that to Bianca, for fear of what she'd say about _her_ experience with the pain…) and loud and _wet_ that he feels weirdly sick if he has to think about seeing her do that again in a few months. _Especially _after he watched that, he never thought of Bianca as fragile or weak.

But now she looks like she could shatter like glass, lying there in their bed, her arms wrapped around herself, curled into a ball while the shadows of the rainwater fall down her skin.

It makes Drew want to kick himself senseless, seeing her like that. He never knew how to handle girl stuff, girl emotions. He never really needed to – Gracie was gone before she ever really _needed_ him to be her protective big brother, and Bianca never needed his help much, anyway, at least in that area. She could always take care of herself.

Bianca sniffles again, and takes a long breath, taking her face out of the pillow.

"Nothing," she repeats. She sounds ragged and worn, but Drew is relieved to hear her sound slightly less tearful this time.

"I'm just…I'm tired." She sighs wetly. "I'm just _so_ tired."

Drew inches up close to her side, and takes her hand again. He closes his entire fist around it, wishing it were that easy to cover all of her from the things that were _so_ hard.

"I know, baby," he murmurs, squeezing her hand in his. "I know."

Bianca's weight shifts in the bed, and she turns over towards him. She presses her tear-stained face into his shoulder, and he slides an arm up her back, gently running his palm down warm skin. To his relief, it seems to calm her down, as she stops sniffling, and sighs deeply when her eyes close.

"Guess what?" he whispers, when he feels her breathing steady. It ebbs and flows steadily against his chest, and he closes his eyes, running a hand through her hair.

Bianca barely stirs at the movement. "Hmm?" she mumbles.

He leans closer, pressing his lips to her ear. "I got a 76 on the practice quiz."

Her eyes barely slip open. "Seriously?" she says, her voice heavy and slurred with sleep.

Drew nods, wrapping his arms around her thin shoulders. He presses a kiss into her neck, and laces his fingers with hers.

"Things are gonna get better," he whispers. "I promise. It'll change."

Bianca doesn't give him an answer, just the constant wave of her breathing, and the heaviness of her head on his shoulder. He holds still as her body drops deeper and deeper into sleep, molding to his side. His arms stay around her and her eyes stay shut as he pulls the covers over the two of them and lets his own eyes drift shut.

He pulls Bianca in closer to him. She's fast asleep, and doesn't register the movement. He keeps his arms wrapped around her.

The baby will finally be here. It'll be born before Christmas. Bianca will be finished with her semester by then. They'll have everything moved into the new place.

They'll spend the holidays with his family. Lola will beg to be the one to put the star on the top of the tree, and Adam and his mother will get into the same argument they get into every year about his parents chucking the old fake spruce they've had since the boys were little, and finally investing in a pre-lit tree so they could avoid the tangled string of Christmas lights that will inevitably be all knotted up for some reason, even though they haven't been touched since last year. The new baby won't remember any of it, but her mom will take a million pictures, and probably want to dress her in a little Santa suit or something like that.

He'll let her dress the baby in one. He'll let her take all the pictures she wants.

He sighs and pulls the duvet more tightly around them as the A/C kicks on. It hums over the fall of the rain outside, and the white noise seeps through him, like the dull roar of the ocean in a seashell. It's a comforting sound, like footsteps on fresh snow, or a lullaby. It makes him feel even, steady. Like a tide. An easy ocean.

Maybe, he thinks, by Christmas, there will be snow.

Bianca's breath is warm on his face. Her eyelids flutter in her sleep; it's a small, sweet movement he never really thought to associate with her, all the years they've shared a bed. It makes him smile, and he kisses her knuckles even though she doesn't feel a thing.

A 76 on the practice test isn't a new beginning. But it's a start.

Or something like it.


End file.
